The Rose
by SconesxRoses
Summary: Twelve nations have gone to America's cabin... but a vindictive nation is intent on leaving no survivors. England has been receiving strange notes from an enigmatic figure who calls them self "the Rose"- yet telling anyone would result in the death of his love. The clock is ticking and it's up to him to deduce who the "the Rose" is... before they're all dead. (UKJP, FrUS, GerIta)
1. English Roses

**Note: Thank you for reading. This is my first story, so I would appreciate if you could please leave a lot of constructive criticism on what you feel I should improve on, or even general comments on what you'd like to see, what you enjoyed, what you didn't, etc. I enjoy reading all reviews (even flames, for some strange reason), so please do comment if you can. It'll definitely make my day. **

The gentle summer breeze ruffled Arthur Kirkland's perpetually disheveled golden hair. He peered around his balcony and gazed at his flourishing rose garden, his green eyes softening with tender affection. Arthur lived on the third and the top floor of his apartment and could only keep a medium sized balcony garden. Nonetheless, it was remarkably beautiful- and fittingly so, as he spent most of his free time tending to it. His best friend, Alfred Jones, often joked that Arthur's precious flowers provided the only love he would ever find in his oh-so-lonely life. The blonde rolled his eyes as he tipped his watering can over one of the pots. _Alfred would be Alfred, _he decided and wiping his hands with a clean rag, he sat down on a white, curly-cued garden chair. He closed his eyes in contentment and let the glow of the golden afternoon sunshine wash over him, sighing happily as he took another sip of tea. Of course Alfred had remarked on his "feminine" chairs. _His blue eyes had sparkled with mirth,_ Arthur recalled fondly, a relaxed smile gracing his face. _Of course, the bloody idiot _had _laughed for twenty minutes straight, _he remembered suddenly, and his face creased into a characteristically not-so-fond glower.

"Idiot," Arthur muttered, resting his elbow heavily on the matching garden table. "What does _he _know? His brain matter is practically _composed _of all those stupid hamburgers he eats." He chortled appreciatively and took another bite of scone. Never mind Alfred. Arthur vowed to enjoy the beautiful day without dwelling on any of the delinquents he called "friends". His emerald gaze wandered absently over the lush greenery outside of the beauty of his secluded balcony- a fitting symbol for the solitude of his life. Ah yes, he certainly enjoyed life alone. No distractions, no external stress, no perverted Frenchmen, no-

Wait a moment. What… what was that? It sounded like it had come from inside. Arthur's eyes widened and he set his teacup down with a clatter. He craned his neck towards the direction of the sound but all he received was silence, save for the rustling of the wind in the trees. The blonde shook his head violently. He was probably being too paranoid, but he could have _sworn_ he had heard a muffled-

"Oh, honhonhon_hon."_


	2. A Certain Frenchman

"Oh, _honhonhonhon." Arthur_ stood up abruptly, cursing as he nearly knocked over his expensive tea set.

"Fucking hell… _Francis!" _he yelled and stormed into his living room, slamming the glass sliding door behind him. "How the hell did he get into my house?" he muttered, practically seething with rage. "_Come out, Francis! I know you're there!"_ The _honhonhons_ came again and Arthur's head snapped. With a growl, he pushed the front door open, nearly bashing the Frenchman standing behind it. "Francis," Arthur said coldly, his green eyes glittering dangerously as they regarded the man. Francis was attired in a flamboyant pink number with a matching chiffon scarf, his mellifluous golden hair loose and wavy around his shoulders.

"Ha-aaii! France Nii-saan is here!" Francis chirped, tossing his flowery scarf over his shoulder. He batted his cerulean eyes seductively and blew the angry man a kiss, just to irritate him. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"_You visited me_!" The Frenchman laughed at his flustered friend's angry spluttering and waltzed uninvited into the apartment, swinging his grocery bag. Arthur followed him, his glowering gaze silently burning holes into the other man's back. Francis glanced casually over his shoulder, casting an appraising glance over Arthur. "Well, you're as unstylish as ever." Arthur choked in disbelief. Who could possibly be so ungentlemanly as to criticise a (unwilling, in this case) host's appearance in their own home? His face was scarlet as he struggled out incoherent half-insults, which Francis watched with great amusement.

"Take off your shoes" was eventually all Arthur managed, and the Frenchman obliged.

"You're probably wondering why I came, _mon cher," _Francis said, fixing the tousled blonde-haired man with a soulful look. "Or, you're wondering why I don't visit more often?"

"Fuck off, you prat," snapped Arthur, who had seemed to regain his voice. "You wish. Now, what are you doing here, and who the hell let you in?"

"Your lovely concierge," the blue-eyed man purred, running a hand through his perfectly styled blonde waves. "Once he heard you were a friend of mine, he was just _so _happy to oblige, _Anglettere." _

"He's sixty five years old and a grump," muttered Arthur, and his eyes widened in realisation. "And we are _not_ friends. I hate you, remember?" Francis laughed obnoxiously, tossing back his luscious hair while Arthur watched (in secret envy).

"Likewise!" the Frenchman cried, patting him patronisingly on his head. "But I'm here because I need a favour, _mon ami_." Arthur raised a thick eyebrow, a reluctant frisson of curiosity running through his body.

"Well, I suppose you should sit down first, idiot," the messy-haired man said ungraciously, gesturing without much enthusiasm towards one of his comfy couches. "And I'll fetch you some tea." Without waiting for a response, Arthur whirled and stalked off to the kitchen. Yes, he certainly _loathed _Francis, but his gentlemanly onuses could never be forgotten. After all, a host's duty was to ensure the comfort of his guests, no matter how… perverted… or bloody _French_ they just so happened to be. Just as he had put the kettle on, he heard a loud voice nattering away from the living room.

"Yes, _now, _mon ami!" Francis jabbered into his cellphone. "Yes, at _le Anglettere's _home! Hurry up." Arthur's mouth gaped open as he made eye contact with the Frenchman.

"Y-You… _you can't just invite people to my house without consulting me!" _Seemingly undisturbed, Francis smirked and terminated the call with unnecessary flair, batting his eyelashes.

"Alfred's on his way already, _Arthur," _he hummed silkily, dangling the cellphone in front of his face. "Unless you would like to call him off?" Green eyes narrowed, the Englishman stomped towards Francis and extended his hand for the phone. "But he's gone to _so _much trouble," Francis pouted, shoving the cellphone into his pocket hastily. "Surely you wouldn't want to let his efforts go to waste?"

"What efforts?" Arthur relented, drawing back in disinclination. Like it or not, Francis had him there. He knew of Arthur and Alfred's brotherly relationship- after all, Arthur had practically raised Alfred- and he knew how the Englishman would hate to see Alfred crestfallen.

"You'll just have to see," came the annoying response, and the blonde huffed, making his way back to the kitchen. "And oh, where's my wine, Anglettere?"

"You're getting _tea," _Arthur hissed, his green eyes crackling, and the Frenchman dissolved into a fit of laughter. Honestly. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath as he arranged his scones and chocolate chip cookies on a platter. "Prat. Wanker. Git. Sodding…. French." He carried the tea tray back into the living room and he set it down on the elegant white coffee table. With as much decorum as he could muster, he proffered his plate of treats to Francis. "Would you care for a scone or a biscuit?" Francis jabbed a finger at the offending food in horror.

"Are _those _what they are?" he exclaimed, his eyes filled with revulsion. "I thought they were some sort of obscure English fertiliser! Mon cher, are those even _edible?" _

"_Yes, they bloody fucking are!" _Arthur roared and Francis drew back in alarm as the British man uncharacteristically (he usually eats like a proper gentleman) crammed a scone defiantly into his mouth. "I am a-" (mumble mumble) "-_fucking good cook, and_ if you don't want one-" (gulp) "-that's _fine_. But I'll have you know-" (mumble mumble) "-you're _missing out_," he muffled incoherently through a mouthful of scone, wildly gesticulating with his hands in an attempt to punctuate his tirade.

"Whatever you say," Francis responded insufferably with a raise of his perfectly plucked eyebrows. "But Anglettere, even you _must _admit that your cooking is atrocio-" The Frenchman was interrupted by the sound of Arthur's loud doorbell. Arthur stood up, plastered the most irritated expression he could muster on his face, and made for the door. Francis closed his eyes and reclined on the couch, resting his feet on the opposite armrest- something he would never be allowed to do under Arthur's watch. The Englishman's place really _was _quite comfortable, despite said fastidious and persnickety owner. He smiled. He would have to come over more often.

"Um, Francis?" came Arthur Kirkland's very dangerous voice. Francis opened his eyes to see a strangely calm Englishman standing in front of him. "Would you like to explain why the _whole fucking world _is standing on my doorstep?"


	3. An Impromptu Gathering

**Note: This is my first story, so if you have any constructive criticism/tips/comments or suggestions, please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for reading!**

"Come in," Arthur called politely from the living room, ushering the band of misfits into his home. "Would you excuse me for just a moment?" He shut the dividing door between the entranceway and the living room and turned to Francis, his eyes hard. "So."

"Not _quite _the whole world," the Frenchman said defensively, his hands in front of him as he retreated slowly from the advancing blonde.

"You invited America, Japan, Germany, Italy, Russia, China, and even fucking _Prussia _to my home without my consent. I am certainly not incorrect in my rather astute observation that you seem to have invited _the whole fucking world."_ Well, this was bad. Arthur's tone only grew more exaggeratedly formal than usual when he was extremely pissed. Francis screwed his face up, trying to figure out how to get out of this one. Perhaps he could use his famous French charm? Suddenly, Arthur frowned. "Wait. I feel this odd… presence in the room. Did you invite someone else?" Francis stared at him, bewildered.

"Non, they were all I invited…" The two men stared at each other for a long moment. "Alfred, Kiku, Ludwig, Feliciano, Ivan, Yao, Gilbert… yes, I am certain they are all…"

"And me," said a quiet voice from behind a large potted plant, causing both Arthur and Francis to jump in fright.

"W-Who?" Arthur asked, spooked. The figure behind the potted plant laughed softly, but bore no grudge. Still, how ironic that the one who could see beings that no one else could was still unable to see him.

"It's me," Canada tried again. The large bear nestled in the crook of his arm cast a baleful look up at its owner.

"Who?"

"Canada, Kumajiro." The bear continued to stare at him and the poor nation drooped. "Matthew…"

"Uh… I'm so sorry… Ca- Can…?" Arthur said hastily. "Please, do have a seat by Francis." Canada gave his signature tepid smile and took a seat by Francis, who stared at the shorter man somewhat mistrustfully.

"Hi, Francis…."

"…Sorry, who?"

"…"

"…"

"…Canada."


	4. I Knew It!

"Sorry to keep you all waiting," Arthur said half-sarcastically, flinging the dividing door open. He smiled through gritted teeth as the nations took no notice, just as he had expected. They had already started their ridiculous bickering within the three minutes that they had been in his home. Alfred was laughing obnoxiously as he found some way to anger Ludwig, Yao _and _Gilbert all at once; Italy had produced pasta out of thin air; Russia was laughing darkly, and Japan was helplessly attempting to make peace with the nations. "You guys," Arthur started, but the loud arguing drowned his voice out. "You _guys," _he tried again, only to be jostled by Gilbert, who had been pushed towards him. "Everyone _shut the bloody hell up!" _That got them. The nations froze comically, mid-fight, their fists raised. "Well. Now that I've gotten your attention, welcome to my home," Arthur said sarcastically. "Do come in." One by one, the nations shuffled in, grumbling.

"Dude, I'm _starved," _Alfred complained, hanging his coat on the wooden coatrack.

"Ah, Alfred," Arthur greeted, holding out a platter. "Scone?" Alfred froze.

"Um, not _that _starved," he hastily amended, and Arthur shot him an icy look.

"Gilbert? Scone?"

"Are those what they are?" Gilbert demanded, his red eyes sparkling. "I thought they were some sort of English fertiliser." From the living room floated Francis's celebratory cry of "I knew it!"

"I'll have one, Arthur-san," Kiku offered quietly in an attempt to be polite, and Arthur's face relaxed into a smile.

"Kiku," he said pleasantly. "I'm so glad you're here. Please, come sit down." The reserved Japanese man smiled tentatively up at Arthur and let him lead the way to the living room. His large brown eyes widened.

"You have a beautiful apartment, Arthur-san," Kiku breathed, taking in the minimalist flower-patterned curly décor (so what if it was a tad girly? It suited him.), the snowy white French windows and the picturesque balcony rose garden. "It's so... English, and white… and well-lit and… just splendid!" England smiled warmly at the Japanese man's innocent astonishment.

"Thank you, Kiku. That's very kind."

Francis blew Kiku a lascivious kiss and grinned broadly as the Japanese man reddened, looking flustered. "Stop teasing Kiku, you bloody idiot," Arthur snapped, putting a protective arm around the smaller Japanese man. "Kiku, please have a seat. I'll just get you some tea… and do have a scone." Kiku blanched, his normally impassive face creased in concern as he stared at the plate of scones with abject horror.

"Thank you, Arthur-san," he finally managed to say, picking a scone off the platter delicately. "They look… delicious." Arthur grinned broadly and went off to the kitchen as the rest of the nations filed into the room.

"Don't eat it," Francis mouthed as Alfred gestured at one of Arthur's potted plants. The Japanese man nodded gratefully and surreptitiously sidled across the living room to the pot. Just as he was about to drop his scone in the hiding spot, he noticed a pale yellow lump behind one of the leaves. He frowned and pushed the leaf back to discover a pile of over a dozen scones nestled amongst the dirt, no doubt hastily shoved into place by prior other frantic visitors. The Japanese man recoiled in horror and looked up to meet the gazes of the other nations. "That's where everyone puts them," Gilbert hissed.

"Puts what?" Kiku clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a small yelp as Arthur walked into the living room with a tray of teacups and a teapot. His green eyes rested on Kiku, who was still crouched by the pot. "Is something wrong?" The brown-eyed man's mouth opened and closed helplessly, unable to form words as Arthur made his way over towards him. "Kiku, what's- _bloody hell. _Are those… my scones?" He stared around the room in shock. "When… what… who did this?" The other nations averted their eyes. Alfred whistled an innocuous tune. Ludwig cleared his throat self-consciously. Italy frantically mass-produced white flags.

"Ufu!" Russia laughed, breaking the silence. "Sorry, Arthur!" He smiled dangerously and his usual dark aura began to form behind him. "But you know, your scones are terrible, England," he said conversationally, still smiling, softly palming the head of his lethal faucet pipe. "You should really stop baking… Or… existing, da?"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" There was Alfred's distinctive, obnoxious laugh. "Russia's right, Artie!"

"Ve~," Feliciano sniffled, his mouth full of scone. "It tastes bad… I don't like it..." He took another bite of scone and Ludwig gaped at him in disbelief.

"Why are you still eating then, Italy?" he bellowed, and the Italian nation gazed up at him doe-eyed, his face now completely cheerful.

"Ve… I was hungry, Doitsu…"

"Your scones are too unawesome for the awesome me," Gilbert declared proudly, puffing out his chest. "Here, Mattie, maybe you can use these as hockey pucks," he added, tossing a scone in Canada's direction. Matthew looked up in disbelief.

"Wait, you remember me-"

"I love you, Eyebrows, but your food is disgusting," Francis cut in smoothly, blowing a kiss at the depressed England.

The other more polite nations began to half-heartedly murmur their agreement.

"Oh." Arthur wilted. "You don't like them. Okay…" Rueful tears formed in his green eyes as he laughed softly, a gloomy aura settling over him. "Somehow, I knew. Somehow… I knew." The nations stared as the English nation slumped over despondently, his face buried in his knees, in a depressed world of his own. Gentle Kiku patted him consolingly on the back but really could say nothing. They were all… sort of… right.

"Er… so, anyway!" Alfred laughed, uncomfortable with all the silence. "Our next order of business! Everyone, listen up! It's the hero's turn! Let's start with a roll call! Japan!"

"Hai," Kiku said matter-of-factly.

"Germany!"

"Present!"

"Italy!"

"Ve~!"

"Russia!"

"Ufu!" Ivan laughed, his violet eyes sparkling with childish glee.

"England!"

"Here," the blonde mumbled from behind his arms, the atmosphere around him still melancholy. America chuckled nervously.

"Er… China!"

"Here, aru!"

"France!"

"Haaa-aaii! Of course, France Nii-saan is he-ere~!" The nation blew a dramatic kiss at the others with a flourish and a wink.

"Okay! Well, let's get starte-"

"Wait! Something's… not right!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly, snapped out of his funk. He furrowed his eyebrows. "One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine- _wait, nine?!" _

"Um… Canada…."

"Nine?!" France cried, hastily counting off the nations with his fingers.

"Canada…"

"And Sea-kun is here, too!" The small, eyebrow-ed nation popped up triumphantly from behind a couch, waving his tiny flag.

_"OI, you!" _Arthur bellowed, picking the struggling nation up heftily. _"Get the bloody hell out of here, you idiot!"_ He tossed Sealand right out of his front door and brushed his hands off. "And don't come back!" England huffed, locking the door. He made his way back towards the living room. "Shall we adjourn?"

"Yeah, dude!" Alfred cheered, clapping his hands. "Where were we? Oh, right. So now that Sea-what's-his-face is gone, we should have the right amount of people!" China frowned, silently counting the people.

"No, we still have nine, aru," he declared. The nations exchanged glances, noticeably disturbed.

"Who the hell is the ninth person in this room?" Ludwig growled, banging an authoritative fist on the coffee table (and Arthur winced as the resounding clatter rattled his best china teacups). "Come out _immediately_ if you know what's good for you."

"It's me, Canada…" The nations looked down in surprise to see Matthew smiling wanly from a corner of the room, clinging to his polar bear.

"Oh, sorry, Canada aru," China apologised, extending a hand to the nation. "But you really shouldn't hide like that. Come sit here, aru."

"…I wasn't hiding…"

"So!" Alfred cried optimistically. "The reason why I called this meeting is-"

"Wait, wait, hold on a second," Arthur suddenly demanded, holding up a hand.

"You again?" The American huffed, folding his arms. "It's not cool to interrupt the hero when he's talking, you know."

"How did you get the stuffy old bag downstairs to let you lot in?" Arthur queried, quirking an eyebrow. "I'm assuming you told him you were all friends of mine, like Francis did?" The nations exchanged hesitant looks. "What? What's wrong?"

"Well, uh…" Alfred started, with a glance back at the others. "That's maybe not _quite _how it happened-"

"Ufufu!" Ivan's innocent laughter cut in. "We just said we were here to see a friend in apartment 302!" Arthur relaxed visibly.

"Well, that's not too bad…"

"And you know something else?" The Russian man interrupted as if England hadn't even spoken, his soft violet eyes growing dark. "I told that old sack of bones that if he didn't let us in, I would have some... _fun... _with him and my pipe."

"Fuck, I knew it!"


	5. Ski Trip

"So! Welcome, everyone!" Alfred exclaimed jauntily as everyone settled into their respective places (and Arthur muttered a murderous rendition of "this isn't your house, you bloody git".) "I called this meeting to make an announcement! I, the hero, have planned an amazing ski trip for us all!" Francis jabbed him in annoyance, and the American laughed a little guiltily. "Okay, so maybe Francis was in on it too… and it really was all Italy's idea…" the happy Italian acknowledged this with a wave.

"Ve~!" Feliciano smiled. "It's going to be so much fun! There's going to be pasta, and pasta, and more pasta-"

"You're all coming, right? Hahahahahaha! I knew it! It's official! Let's start packi-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Arthur interrupted sharply, and Alfred sighed.

"Dude, you've _gotta _stop killing my buzz," he complained, adjusting Texas on the bridge of his nose.

"Kindly refrain from using your butchered version of the Queen's English in my presence," Arthur snapped, throwing a pointed glare at the American who stuck his tongue out petulantly at the British nation. "And really? _This _is what we've been leading up dramatically to? _This _is what the author made us wait four chapters for? Do you have any idea how bloody disappointing this is to all of us?"

"…Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about," Alfred said, looking perplexed.

"Please try to keep things in our universe, Arthur-san," Kiku mumbled so softly that he doubted anyone had heard.

"Huh?" Arthur cocked his head at Kiku, looking bewildered. "Anyway… Alfred. Tell me exactly what this ski trip business is about, and tell me _now." _

"Dude, you've gotta learn to listen," Alfred responded exasperatedly. "Ski. Trip. S-k-i-t-r-i-"

"Yeah, yeah, the awesome me knows how to _spell _ski trip, smartass," Gilbert interjected proudly. "But that unawesome England-guy is right. What ski trip?"

"Oui, Gilbert, we're going to Amerique's place. We'll all fly in separately, but we've booked a one-night stay at an airport hotel before we actually drive up to the cabins. It was a surprise intended just for _you,_ mon ami," Francis explained mock-unctuously, effortlessly gliding a hand through his hair. "Surprise!" Yao gave him an unexpectedly friendly look.

"We're all going, aru?" the Chinese nation said happily, shaking his head so his dark ponytail swung around his shoulders. "Ah, I haven't skied in so long, aru! Not since little brother Kiku was only _this _tall!" Yao patted Kiku (who looked uncomfortable) affectionately and pulled him into an awkward hug. "When are we going, aru? And for how long?"

"Yep! We're all going- oh, and Spain and Romano are coming, too… we're leaving the day after tomorrow, and we'll be gone for a week, dude!" Alfred said happily. "I can't wait!"

_"The day after tomorrow?!" _Ludwig, Kiku, and Arthur exclaimed in simultaneous disbelief.

"Hahahahahaha! You guys are like, triplets! That's so cool!"

"You didn't give us any time to prepare for this, America!" Ludwig growled, his sharp blue eyes narrowing accusingly.

"C'est une surprise," Francis said sarcastically, rolling his sapphire eyes in dramatic irony. "Surprise. You know. For fun?"

"Yes, yes, that's all very well, frog, but we would have appreciated a little consideration on your behalf for our schedules," Arthur said tightly, pursing his lips.

"With all due respect, I personally think it's a good idea, Alfred-kun," Kiku offered, watching the American's face break out into a huge, sunny grin. "I enjoy exercising my old bones once in a while," he added, a shy smile tugging at his lips. The Japanese man threw a glance at his older brother, his smile tinged with a slight hint of mischief. "And I would certainly welcome any chance to demolish Yao Nii-saan."

"Bring it on, aru!" China declared cheerfully, ruffling Japan's hair lovingly. Kiku smiled. This time, he didn't pull away.

"Skiing, da?" Russia smiled from his seat. His gentle violet eyes sparkled at the exciting prospect of spending a week in the snow, with all his good friends. "I'll bring vodka!"

"Now we're talking!" Gilbert exclaimed his scarlet eyes narrowing in glee. "The awesome me will show everyone just how unawesome they are at sliding down snowy slopes on boards!"

"You always find a way to phrase everything so it sounds awkward," Ludwig muttered under his breath, placing a gloved hand on the pulsing vein in his forehead. "I suppose this trip will serve as a good way to strengthen bonds and- _Italy! Stop sleeping!"_

"Ve, Luddy!" The Italian laughed cheerfully, wide-awake. "I was just taking a mid-afternoon festa!"

"Did you hear a single word we said?" Germany snapped, and Feliciano blinked (or he might have; it was hard to tell, since his eyes are always closed).

"Ve~?"

"The ski trip, Italy!" Alfred broke in, a huge grin plastered on his face. "We're all going for two weeks, remember?"

"Ve! Of course! Doitsu! Nihon! You _have _to go! Please, please, please?" Feli begged, his tawny eyes wide and pleading. The gruff German sighed ruefully, but allowed a small smile to flitter across his lips.

"I guess… it couldn't hurt…"

_"Yaay!_ Nihon, you're coming too, right? Ple-ease?"

"Hai, Italia-kun," the Japanese nation agreed, smiling. "And as of now, Gilbert-kun, Yao Nii-saan, Ivan-san, Alfred-san, Francis-san, Ludwig-san, yourself, and I are attending. I guess this only leaves…" He turned to Arthur, an expectant smile on his timid face. "Will you accompany us, Arthur-san?"

"Yeah, don't be an unawesome buzz-kill, England!" Gilbert crowed. England grumbled bad-temperedly and turned to America.

"Details. Now."

"Well you see, Iggy, a ski trip is where you go _skiing," _Alfred explained slowly and patiently as though he were explaining something to an incredibly stupid person (which was rather insulting to England, considering this was _America)_ emphasising with exaggerated hand gestures. "Skiing. Or snowboarding. Slopes. Mountains. Snow." He went on for five minutes, listing any and all words that had any remote correlation to skiing.

"Russia," Ivan added helpfully. "Vodka. Become one, da?"

"I know what a bloody ski trip is!" Arthur yelled, finally at the end of his tether with the smartass American. "But who said anything about me going?" Francis shot him a smirk.

"Oh, don't worry, Anglettere," he assured with a wink at America. "You're _definitely _going with us." England glared at him, jutting his pointy chin out as he pouted.

"You can't make me," he snapped, crossing his arms defiantly.

"The cancellation fee is seven hundred dollars~!" Arthur went pale.

"Okay," England admitted, hanging his head in resignation and the nations cheered.


	6. Airplane Trips

**~Arthur and Francis~**

"I can't believe I got lumbered with _you," _Arthur muttered, scooting as far as possible away from the beaming Frenchman.

"Oh mon cher, you took the words _right _out of my mouth," Francis said dramatically. "Oh, what did I do to deserve this? I'm stuck with a bad-tempered, anti-social, unfriendly, sulky-"

"No, I am not," England huffed, yanking the seat belt across his lap. "Now kindly shut up and leave me alone."

"See! See what I mean!" Francis crowed. "Anglettere, you're definitely not my definition of pleasant company!"

"Yeah? Well, I prefer _anyone _over you," Arthur snapped defiantly. "I would much rather be sitting here with Kiku. At least _he _isn't an unpleasant git."

"Oui, oui, we all know you have a thing for Kiku." Francis sighed as if he found the whole conversation incredibly tedious. "Admit it, Anglettere. You're practically married." Arthur fixed his French nemesis with a withering stare.

"We hardly know each other," the Englishman said shortly. "He's pleasant and kind and seems like a good person. But other than that, I don't know the slightest about him. Besides," he added pointedly, "at least _he _doesn't try to have sex with everything that moves."

"Hm? No, it doesn't have to move," Francis said, only half-listening. He winked at a passing air stewardess and blew a deep kiss with a flourish. She blushed and squealed, racing out of the cabin. He smirked at Arthur. "I'm not picky, mon cher."

_"That's not the point!"_

**~Alfred and Ivan~**

Russia smiled murderously at his boisterous American comrade. So far, the American had refused to shut up or sit down and had been laughing non-stop for the past twelve minutes. Quite frankly, Ivan wasn't sure how much longer he could withstand the urge to drill his pickaxe into Alfred's annoying head (he had managed to sneak it past airport security).

"If you don't be quiet, I'll kill you with my bare hands, da?" the Russian said in sweet tones with an ever so slight ominous glint present in his violet eyes.

"You mean, you're super excited to spend your airplane ride with the _hero!" _he cheered, as oblivious as ever to the impending danger, and a few people sitting across from them shot the duo odd looks. "Hahahahahahaha! Hahahahahahahahaha!"

_"Kolkolkolkolkolkol…" _

**~Antonio and Lovino~**

Antonio gazed fondly down at the grumpy Italian who lay sprawled out asleep, taking up most of the shared two seats. "Hey, Lovi." Romano gave a muffled grunt and burrowed his head deeper into the Spaniard's lap. "Romano?"

"Mmf… go away, you tomato bastard," he muttered, his bright scarlet face scrunching up into a frown. A short string of drool hung from the Italian's mouth and Spain stifled a laugh. His cute little Romano really _did _resemble the tomatoes he loved so much.

"Alright, then."

**~Feliciano and Ludwig~**

"Ve~!" An excited Italian bounced about in his seat. "Look! You can see the clouds!" He pointed dreamily as a cloud floated past. "It looks like pastaaaa," Feliciano sang, just as his stomach gave a huge rumble. "Luddy, I'm hungry." His German companion grunted, and turned the page of his newspaper.

"In other news, forensic social workers-"

"Doitsu…"

"…_Forensic social workers_-"

"Doitsu, Doitsu!"

"-Warn the effects of negating-"

"Doitsuuu!"

_"What!" _

"Ve… I made pasta! Do you want some?" Feli asked, smiling with sweet innocence at Ludwig. The German sighed in exasperation and flipped his newspaper to a new page- wait a moment, did Feliciano just say he made _pasta?! _His mouth gaped open at the makeshift kitchen that the Italian had somehow set up, right under his unaware nose.

_"Italy! You can't just-"_

"Sir- sir, I'm afraid you can't place heavy things on your tray." An air stewardess had bustled over in alarm, spotting Italy's setup. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Sir… are you making _pasta?" _Italy smiled.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm already finished!" Feli beamed cheerfully up at her. "Pasta?" Ludwig groaned. This was going to be a long plane ride.

**~Gilbert and Kiku~**

"…"

"And the awesome me was like, I was here first!"

"…"

"And the other _unawesome _guy was like, "Piss off, you shit!" So I was like, "What did you just say to me? Do you know how awesome I am?" And then _he _was like-" Kiku sighed and slumped over in his seat as Gilbert jabbered on, his red eyes glowing with excitement. Only seven hours more of nodding politely and pretending to be interested to go.

**~Yao and Matthew~**

"Aiyaah!" The Chinese man complained, pressing his face against the window. "I wish I weren't the only one stuck without a companion for some company!" Oh well. At least he wasn't stuck with Opium (his pet name for England)- or the Hamburger Idiot. Or worse, Russia. China shuddered involuntarily.

"Um, actually, I'm here, China…" Matthew offered softly, reaching out to pat the Chinese man on his bony shoulder. Yao nearly jumped out of his seat, letting out a cry of surprise.

"W-what was that, aru?!" He peered around frantically but no one else was in sight.

"Yao, it's me, Matthew," Canada tried again, tugging gently at the sleeves of the older man. China shivered, his eyes wide and wary.

"P-Please, aru… whatever you are, leave me alone," he begged and with shaking hands, he draped the thin complementary airline blanket over his body. "Aiyaah… why do I always get stuck with vengeful spirits, aru…" Canada sighed and stared straight ahead. The large bear sitting on his lap glared up at him reproachfully.

"I'm not a vengeful spirit…" Canada trailed off in defeat.

"Who?" Matthew heaved another sigh.

"Canada…"

Hours later, the nations all reunited at America's airport.

"Hahahahahahaha! The hero booked the Airport Hilton for us to stay at for the night! No need to thank me! You're welcome!"

"Whatever."

"Ve~…"

"Fine. _Italy, get off my pants!_"

"Aiyaah… it's going to be a long night…"

"…Thank you, Alfred-kun?"

"Hahahahahahahahaha!"

"…I wonder when I'm going to get a chance to tal-"

"Ufufu~! I wonder who my roommate is going to be!"

_"Holy shit, _Russia! Don't stand behind the awesome me like that!"

"Oh, great! Right, Romano?"

_"It's France! Protect me, you tomato-bastard!"_

"Can we go? France Nii-saan needs his beauty sleep…"

"Oh, shut up, you pansy git. Let's go, America."

"Hahahaha! Okay!"

"Ve~ Wait! Don't leave me here, by myself!"

"…Um… wait… for me..."

"Who?"

"…Canada…"


	7. Leaving

"I-gg-yyy! Open up, dude! C'mon! We're all waiting!" Arthur woke blearily to the sound of Alfred's obnoxious voice and loud knocking.

"Ugh…" he groaned, swinging his legs out of bed.

"Hurry _up, _dude!"

"Shut the bloody hell up, wanker! I'm getting dressed!" England roared, and he heard a not-so-muffled snicker from behind the door.

"Hahahahahaha! You're not even dressed yet? Hurry up, Iggy!" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I'm _so _not a morning person," the grump grumbled, but pulled on a simple green long sleeved shirt and black skinny jeans with surprising brevity. He took one last look around the hotel room to make certain that he had left nothing behind, and then gave a satisfied nod. "I'm off, then," he said to himself.

"Arthur!" England gaped as Pixie, Faerie, Captain Hook, and Unicorn flew/trotted up to him. "Bye, Arthur! Have a nice trip!" He laughed as they fluttered into his mess of blonde hair.

"You guys shouldn't have come all this way for me!" Arthur giggled. "No- no fair! Ha ha! Stop- no! Ha ha!"

"Artie… Artie, are you playing with your fairy friends again?" Alfred snorted. "Hurry up, dude! We're getting McDonald's!"

"Fuck off, asshole!" Arthur snapped, his green eyes flaring. "Right. I'm off." He lifted his pre-packed luggage bag and grabbed his ski jacket. He opened the door to a very cheerful yet impatient looking American, who grabbed him by the hand happily and dragged him to the elevator.

"It's gonna be _so _much fun!"


	8. Friends

"Hey guys," Arthur grumbled blearily as he hoisted his bag off his shoulder and into the trunk of the van. Francis stuck his head out of the van, his eyebrows raised.

"Well well! Look who's a little ray of sunshine today! Something up your ass, mon cher?" he asked sweetly, his blue eyes full of innocence. England shot him a fiery glare.

"Fuck off, you wanker! _You _would know." Romano looked up from the juicy tomato he was eating to glare at the English nation.

"Hmph" was his only acknowledgement of Arthur before he dove back into his tomato. Spain smiled fondly at the Italian nation, and Gilbert preened himself while muttering assurances of being "undeniably awesome". England slumped over. Oh great. It seemed the whole Bad Friends Trio was here.

"So, where am I sitting?" the disheveled blonde asked, feeling a slight twinge of nerves. To be perfectly honest, he was never the best in social situations- and as a result, was frequently left out. Not that he cared. _Solitude suits me just fine_, he often convinced himself robustly. _I don't even like people, anyway._

"I would offer you a seat on my lap-"

"-No-"

"…_But_ I certainly don't want some grumpy Englishman on my lap for the next three hours," Francis finished with a smirk. "No, mon cher, I think the trunk would suit you better." Antonio, Gilbert and Francis let out a collective snicker- and even Ludwig and Yao cracked smiles. Feliciano, as always, giggled like the clueless dolt he was while Russia smiled and Romano scowled.

"Like I would ever sit on your lap," the messy haired blonde grumbled, crossing his arms. Thankfully, Kiku Honda smiled gently from the back of the van, his large brown eyes shining.

"Arthur-san, would you like to sit… back here with me?" he asked a tad hesitantly and Arthur let out a silent breath of relief.

"Sure, Kiku. T-Thanks." The two exchanged shy smiles and Japan scooted over to make room for England.

"Hahahahahaha! Let's get this show on the road!" Alfred laughed obnoxiously from the wheel. "Hahahahahaha! Hahahahahaha! Hahahahahaha!" Arthur groaned.

"It's too early for… that, Alfred," he muttered. Kiku gave him a mild look.

"It's 9:30 in the morning, Arthur-san?"

"Oh, ignore him!" Francis turned around in his seat and winked at the two. "He's just cranky because his hair is a mess and he has no sense of style, unlike France Nii-saan here! Oh, and his cooking stinks!" Arthur made a face at the Frenchman and yanked a hardcover book out of his rucksack. Kiku squinted at the book in curiosity. The cover was classically Victorian, the cover navy blue and illustrated with printings of gold chandeliers. A thin sheet of laminated plastic protected the book carefully, which made Kiku smile unintentionally. It seemed England was a fellow book lover. In just a minute, England was deeply immersed in the works of Charles Dickens. Kiku looked on with authentic interest.

"May I ask what you're reading, Arthur-san?" England looked up, startled, but his face relaxed into a small smile.

"Sure, Kiku. I'm reading Great Expectations," he explained, tapping the book with his finger. "It's a great English classic." Arthur hesitated as the curious look on Kiku's face intensified. With any other book, he would offhandedly lend it out to practically anyone… but he had never entrusted any of his precious classics to any of his careless friends. Still… Kiku seemed the type to be careful.

"Maybe… maybe I could lend it to you, if you want?" The Japanese man stared up at England, who had flushed a shade of deep red. "I-I mean… not that… I'm… recommending it, or anything…"

"Yes, Arthur-san, I would love to read it," Kiku said gently, with a kind smile. Arthur stopped babbling and smiled back properly. Conveniently enough, Francis just so happened to turn. His cerulean eyes widened in delight at the sight of the two.

"Well, well, Arthur!" he purred, and England jumped in his seat. "I had no idea you swung _that _way! And you too, Kiku? Well, I fully support you two, you know!" He winked as the Japanese man flushed deep scarlet, and Arthur felt a flash of indignation on behalf of his friend.

"Fuck off, frog," he snapped. "I just so happened to be recommending this great book to Kiku. Right, Kiku?" The Japanese man nodded emphatically.

"Yes, Arthur-san," he affirmed. "I assure you, Francis-san, your suspicions are misplaced." The Frenchman peered at the cover and let out a snort.

"Great Expectations? What are you, a grandpa, mon cher?" Francis laughed. "You're dreadfully boring. I would be rather read a steamy romance novel." He waggled his eyebrows in a seductive manner, and Arthur snorted.

"I'm sure you would, frog," he said sarcastically. "You lack the intellectual capacity to handle a great classic."

_"You're _classic, you pretentious old grand-pere," Francis muttered, and the Bad Friends Trio sniggered.

"…Um… Antonio… you're sitting on me…."

"Who?" Kumajiro shot his owner a baleful glare.

"…Canada…"

The two blondes ignored Matthew and flipped each other off while Kiku regarded them warily.

"I… I hope you do not mind me asking, Arthur-san," Kiku said tentatively. "But are you two… friends?" Arthur pulled a face and Francis stuck his tongue out childishly at him.

"Nope. I hate him."

"Mon ennemi," the French nation concurred, nodding his head vehemently. Kiku raised his eyebrows. Hm. So it seemed the two _could _agree on some things.

"That's _my _line, you git!" Arthur snapped, just as Francis retorted, "No, that's _mine!" _A small war ensued between the two arguing nations for the next fifteen minutes, and Kiku sighed. Well never mind, then.


	9. McDonald's

An hour later, Alfred took a sharp turn. "Pit stop!" he cheered, braking. "McDonald's, dudes! What'd you guys want?" Yao and Kiku exchanged uneasy glances.

"Do they serve gyoza, aru?" Yao asked tentatively.

"And vodka?" Russia smiled.

"Tomatoes," Romano snapped grouchily, with a flip of his chocolate coloured cowlick.

"The awesome me will have whatever the awesome me is having!"

"…What? And I propose we have tea and scones."

"Mon cher, I don't want to die here. Let's have authentic French cuisine."

"…Could we have pancakes… with maple sy-"

Alfred laughed.

"Hahahahahaha! Of course not! McDonald's serves classic American burgers and fries!" Yao frowned uncertainly.

"Um… I'm not so sure, aru…" The nations all traded doubtful looks.

"Ve… I'd rather have pasta," Italy whined, rootling around in his backpack. Germany sighed.

"Italy, you're wasting your time. There's no way you're going to find any-"

"Found it!" Germany gaped at the Italian as he held up a container of pasta, perking up considerably. "Ve~!"

"Never mind," he muttered, placing his face in his hands. "Just get me… anything, really." The German looked up sharply. "And make sure it has _some _nutritional value." The other nations murmured their agreement.

"I'll get the rest of you guys all Big Mac sets, then! Plenty of vegetables in those!" The American laughed cheerfully and hopped out of the van. In five minutes, he had returned and was distributing greasy paper bags amongst the nations. Kiku opened his bag and stared at its contents faintly.

"Oh my," the Japanese man said feebly. "This is twice the size of the hamburger sets they sell in Japan." Alfred guffawed, slapping Kiku on the back heartily, making the smaller man wince.

"Hahahahahaha! Of course it is! No offence, Kiku, but the Japanese McDonald's just aren't the same as the good old classic American ones!" Kiku gave him a blank stare with his impassive brown eyes.

"…None taken, Alfred-kun," he said, and turned to Arthur with a smile. "Would you like half, Arthur-san? I don't think I can manage this myself. I'm not used to eating this much," Kiku added, with an ever so slightly pointed look directed at the clueless American (who was still laughing away by himself).

"Sorry Kiku, but I'm going to have trouble finishing my own," Arthur said ruefully, goggling at his own burger and fries. He pulled out the drink container of Sprite and shook his head. "Bloody hell, _this _is a medium? Why do you serve drinks in buckets at your place, Alfred?"

"Hahahahahahaha! That's because you're an idiot, Artie!"

"…I…"

"Those are clearly cups, not buckets! Hahahahahaha!"

"Oh, sod off."


	10. The First Note

An hour (of loud arguing) later, the van pulled onto a secluded path, leading deep into a snowy mountain forest. Ivan, Gilbert and Matthew pressed their faces against the windows of the van, their eyes shining as they peered at the mounds of snow. Yao happily chattered with Kiku while Francis and Arthur attempted to strangle each other, and Antonio and Lovino munched companionably on juicy tomatoes. Feliciano bothered Ludwig as Alfred laughed obnoxiously to himself. It was just another normal day amongst the nations.

"Ve, we're almost at the cabin," Italy beamed happily. "Canada, are you going to ski?" The timid nation lit up happily at being recognised.

"Of course! I-"

"Hahahahahahaha! Of course, I'll be snowboarding! Iggy, you're snowboarding too, right?" Arthur gave a curt nod.

"Fine. I guess." Francis let out a derisive snort.

"Don't hurt yourself, _grandpere," _he teased, poking Arthur's messy blonde head with an infuriating finger. The Englishman scowled at the glowing French nation as he tossed his golden waves to reflect the light. "I will be skiing, of course."

"I bet you're crap at it," Arthur muttered bluntly.

"Better than you, at least!"

"Aiyaah, they never stop fighting… little brother aru, are you snowboarding or skiing?" China called over the ensuing rabble of the enemy nations.

"Yes, Yao Nii-saan, I'll be skiing," Kiku called back. "What about you?"

"Skiing," the Chinese nation replied. He turned to Ivan, who was gazing at the fighting nations with soft… somewhat _gleeful_… violet eyes. "Ivan aru, are you…" he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to guess, "snowboarding?"

"Gosh, me?" Russia asked, looking startled. "Da, of course! I'm very good at it, actually," he added wistfully, old memories of skidding down endlessly white slopes clouding his gentle eyes. "But I'm just happy to be here with all my friends today, da?"

"I'll be skiing," Germany broke in gruffly. Romano shot him a hostile glare.

"Don't get in my way, potato-bastard," he muttered, taking a bite of the pasta he was sharing with Veneziano. Ludwig raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't planning on doing so," the blonde replied, expressionless. "Italy, are you skiing as well?" Feli beamed, his mouth full of carbonara.

"Ve!" he said dreamily. "I'm a good skier, Doitsu! Just wait and see!" His brother rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, idiot," Lovino said pointedly. "I'm better than you. And don't eat all the pasta!" he snapped as Italy dug in happily. Spain laughed fondly, patting Romano's head.

"Oh, Lovi," he teased. "Of course you are! Except for that one ski trip where you-" Antonio was muffled hastily by a very embarrassed, bright-red Italian.

"S-shut up, tomato-bastard!" Lovino hissed, burning scarlet. "That was an accident, you know it was!" Spain smiled warmly.

"Whatever you say, tomato." The Spaniard grinned as Romano's face flushed.

"I do _not _look like a-"

"Of course, the awesome me will be snowboarding!" Gilbert proclaimed proudly, puffing his chest out. His red eyes gleamed. "And I'll beat the rest of your unawesome asses!"

"You wanna bet?" Alfred challenged, sizing up Prussia through the rearview mirror.

"It's not a competition, aru," China chided, attempting to calm things down between the two bristling nations.

"I'm far too old for this," Kiku muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, how much?" the albino shot back, crossing his arms. "I'll bet you ten dollars that the awesome Prussia'll kick your fat ass on the slopes!"

"Oh, please," America snorted, glaring daggers at the cocky Prussian. "The only ass you could kick here is _Iggy, _and that's because he's totally unathletic! Hahahahahaha!" He made accidental eye contact with said nation, and grimaced. "…Um... oops?"

_"How _dare_ you-" _Alfred took a sudden swerve and the nations screamed and swore as they were thrown against the side of the van.

"Damnit, Alfred!" Arthur cursed, pulling himself off of Kiku. "Sorry, Japan."

"Please don't think anything of it," the nation replied demurely, but he flushed lightly.

The van pulled slowly up into a driveway, the snow crunching beneath the tires. The nations stared at the huge log cabin lying ahead. Arthur felt an inadvertent shudder course down his spine. It looked almost like something out of a horror movie.

"We're here, dudes!" Alfred cheered, and leapt out of the van. "Snow! Snow! Hahahahahahaha! Hahahahahahahahaha!" His obnoxious laugh rang out loudly through the forest as the rest of the nations hopped out of the van. Grumbling, England opened the door of the van and stepped out into the snow, peering around at the forest.

"How secluded _is _this place, Alfred?" Arthur wondered out loud.

"Hahahahahaha! Weren't you looking out the windows on the way up?"

_"Just give me a straight answer for once, you fuckwit!"_

"Geez, Artie, something up your ass?" Alfred muttered as England poked him. "Fine, fine, yes, we're in a very out-of-the-way part of the forest. This is actually my private cabin, dudes! I doubt anyone else knows about this place except for me!" he finished proudly, with a flourish.

"…And me…" Canada added softly, and America grinned.

"Oh yeah, and my bro!" he said. "This place was built in 1927. The guys who owned it before us sold it to me and Mattie-"

"-Mattie and I," Arthur interjected grumpily.

"-Mattie and me, and we used to come here every winter!" He shot his brother a curious look. "Oh yeah, why _don't _we come here any more?"

"Well, that was before you forgot I exis-"

"What? Did you say something?" Alfred said cheerfully, and Matthew sighed.

"Never mind," he mumbled, burying his face forlornly in the fur of his bear.

"America?" Germany marched across to the smaller nation, who turned and faced him, grinning broadly. The taller blonde regarded the shorter coldly with stern blue eyes. "We've unpacked the bags from the van. Do we carry them in now?" America whistled, impressed, at the sight of the bags piled neatly by the entrance of the cabin door.

"Uh, yeah, dude, that'll be great!" he said. "Come on, guys!" The American bounded towards the cabin, pulling out the keys from his pocket.

"I don't know where Alfred-kun gets all that energy from," Japan remarked expressionlessly, his brown eyes impassive.

"Search me," Arthur murmured, raising an eyebrow at the laughing American boy. The twelve nations crowded through the doorway and into the large wooden cabin. It was dark and the air smelled musty, like stale mothballs.

"Where's the light switch?" Alfred muttered, squinting through the gloom.

"Over here," Canada said quietly, and flipped on the lights, filling the dark room with bright yellow light. America brightened.

"Hahahahahaha, good job, Mattie!" he praised, clapping his brother heftily on the back.

"Thank you, I-"

"I'm starving," Gilbert grumbled, pushing his way through the room. "Do we have anything to eat?"

"We just had a massive meal." Arthur rolled his eyes heavenward. "How much sustenance could you possibly need? You haven't even burned any energy from sitting around in the van!"

"Hey, the awesome me has a large appetite!" the Prussian huffed, poking his tongue out at Arthur. "Seriously though, are we going to ski soon? I need to show off my skills."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll head out soon," Alfred said, drawing the curtains apart to let the sunlight in. Arthur observed the large room slowly, now bathed in daylight. It was a quaint, old-fashioned room with a high ceiling and a large fireplace in the center of the opposite wall. The sofas were large and plump with quilted covers thrown over them, and on top of the polished coffee table rested a large glass vase. The floor was carpeted with scratchy brown material but was scattered with garish green patterned rugs. Arthur scratched his head. It could have been his imagination, but he felt like something was definitely wrong.

"I'm going to go unpack," he stated, and followed Kiku and Francis up the rickety wooden steps. Japan turned and smiled at Arthur.

"Would you like to..." he hesitated, nibbling his lower lip. "Would you like to share a room, Arthur-san?" France cackled and England flushed a deep shade of scarlet.

"I… well… okay…" he managed to stammer out, his cheeks hot with embarrassment and pleasure. "Not that I want… it's not because..."

"Your tsundere-ness is showing through again, Arthur-san," Kiku murmured, his brown eyes gleaming with humour.

"Tsun-?"

"Oh, just go make out already!" Francis crowed and padded down the hallway, lugging his bags behind him as he followed Romano, Gilbert, and Antonio to the room next to theirs. Kiku smiled and Arthur glowered.

"I guess it's just us, then," he said, and hefted his suitcase into the room closest to the stairway. It was a plain, medium sized room with a desk and two simple beds with a tiny rug in the center of the floor. _Nothing particularly elaborate,_ Arthur decided to himself. He set his suitcase down on his side of the room and plopped facedown onto his bed. "We should probably get our ski clothes on," Japan said in amusement, watching England groan.

"I suppose," Arthur said unenthusiastically, struggling into a sitting position reluctantly- then frowned as something crinkled beneath his hand. He stood up and examined the bed, finding a folded piece of paper tucked neatly in a fold between the duvet and the sheets. "Huh? What's this?"

"Open it," Kiku suggested, and the Englishman nodded. The small sheet was blank aside from a short message printed in neat, black letters.

"'I'm watching you. Love, 'the Rose'," Arthur read out loud slowly. He furrowed his brow, crumpling the paper in his hands. "What… is this some sort of joke?" Japan shrugged, his eyes wide and unassuming.

"I have no idea, Arthur-san," he said carefully. "But I suspect it seems like something Francis-san would do." England's green eyes narrowed and he clutched the note tighter.

"Of _course!" _he exclaimed, his eyes burning. "This is just the sort of creepy thing that pervert would do. And he fancies himself as 'the Rose'," the Englishman scoffed, glaring at the paper. "As if!"

"Should we confront him, Arthur-san?" Kiku asked, his brown eyes gleaming with uncharacteristic mischief.

"No," Arthur decided, his mind slowly formulating a devious plan. He folded the sheet of paper and propped it on the desk. I bet he just wants a reaction. We'll get him back another way, when he's not expecting it." He smirked complacently, pulling on his ski pants. "Right. Ready to go?" Kiku grabbed his goggles and they headed for the door. Arthur hesitated at the door and took another look around the plain room. A sudden chill coursed through England's body, and he felt himself shudder. "Kiku…" The black-haired man turned, his eyes curious.

"Yes, Arthur-san?"

"Do you… does this room feel… _cold _to you?" Japan frowned.

"Not particularly," he said carefully. "Do you have a fever, Arthur-san?" He placed a concerned hand on Arthur's forehead, and he swatted it away absent-mindedly.

"No, it's not that, it's…." he hesitated. "Something about this place just feels… off. It's too cold, for a start."

"Well, we _are_ in the mountains," Kiku said simply, adjusting his goggles.

"Kiku… do you reckon this place may be… haunted?" Japan sighed.

"Oh, Arthur-san," he said gently. "I think you've been watching too many horror movies." England nodded inattentively. Yes, that must be it. But as the two left the room, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that someone- no, _something _was watching him.


	11. A Noise

**Note: Please, please review? I see that all these people are viewing this, but I have no clue if you guys are enjoying this, or if you hate it, or if you have any constructive criticism or thoughts... thanks :)**

"Hahahahahahaha!" Alfred laughed as Kiku and Arthur made their way out of the cabin. "You guys are like, totally late!" He held out the boards and skis he had rented prior to the trip. "This one's yours, Artie!"

"Thanks," England groused. He took the snowboard from Alfred and tucked it under his arm. "Say, America…" he hesitated. The American gave him a curious look.

"Yeah, dude?" he asked, and Arthur shook his head.

"Never mind," he murmured, deep in thought.

"I'm going to kick your ass, Alfred," Gilbert sneered, brandishing his custom-made snowboard menacingly at the American nation.

"Ha, right," Alfred snickered, wielding his own American flag patterned board in challenge.

"Aiyaah," China muttered, placing his head in his palms. "Again with the fighting, aru?" Ivan smiled at him.

"Da," he agreed, holding up his board with one effortless hand.

"Can we _go _now?" Romano snapped. "It's getting late, you bastards."

"Ve~ you're right, fratello," Feli said with a dreamy, closed-eye smile. "Let's go!"

"Everyone got everything?" Alfred asked cheerfully, and the nations murmured in agreement. "Good! Follow me, guys!" The group trudged through the snow behind the American in a single file line. England grumbled to himself as he stomped through the snow. He was _certain _he had felt some sort of… presence… in the cabin, no matter what Japan said. He frowned absently, wandering along. Something was definitely amiss. There was something wrong with that place, and he was going to find out-

"Ow!" Francis yelped as Arthur stumbled into him. "Watch where you're going, idiot!"

"Sorry," the Englishman muttered distractedly, taking a step back.

"What's wrong with you?" France asked, looking mildly concerned. England batted his hand.

"Nothing, nothing," he said, and the stylish Frenchman raised his eyebrows before turning back to the trail. Arthur shook his head. He was being ridiculous. With a lighter heart, the blonde followed his friends just as something rustled in the holly bushes by where he had stood moments before.


	12. A Missing Pet

"That was awesome, dude!" Alfred cheered as he barreled down the hill back towards the cabin. "Canada and I totally kicked your ass!"

"Not likely, you unawesome fatass," Gilbert gloated, puffing his chest out. "The awesome me destroyed you!"

"Hey hey, but didn't you see my air-to-fakie by that tree?" America demanded as England and the others pushed past him, desperate to get into the warmth of the cabin. The nations sighed happily as they gathered around the roaring fireplace, sipping from large mugs of steaming hot chocolate.

"Marshmallows, da?" Ivan- who had taken charge of doling out his homemade marshmallows (made out of God knows what) generously to the nations- asked Spain. The Spaniard grinned weakly as the large man plopped a couple of large marshmallows into his mug without waiting for a response.

Suddenly, Canada looked up from his mug of hot chocolate with a jolt.

"Um… has anyone seen Kumajiro, by any chance?" he asked hesitantly, setting his cup down. China shot him a curious glance.

"Oh, hello, Canada aru," he said, looking perplexed. "Did you just come in?" Canada shook his head despondently, and Yao shrugged. "Aiyaah. Kumajiro? Wasn't he here just a moment ago, aru?" Matthew shook his head, looking increasingly desperate. His arms felt so empty without the familiar comfort of the bear's soft fur. Arthur looked up in interest from his mug, quirking a brow.

"He's never been without me," Canada whimpered, panicked, his light blue eyes welling with tears. "He… he can't manage by himself… G-guys, please h-help me find him…"

"Calm down, dude," Alfred said soothingly, patting his teary-eyed brother on the head. "We'll find him. Where did you think you lost him?"

"I-I…" Matthew stammered, his mind racing frantically as he struggled to remember. "I… I… I dropped my goggles on the way down," he said slowly, scrunching his face up. "I put him down for just a second, and then Alfred challenged me to race, a-and then..." He looked up at the other nations, his teal eyes swimming with tears. "Oh my God, what have I done?" He sank to his knees, breaking into a fresh flood of tears.

"Mathieu, he'll find his way back," Francis said patiently, resting a concerned hand on the younger's trembling shoulder. "Listen, if he doesn't come back, we'll look tomorrow morning, mon cher." Canada shook his head vehemently, his eyes wild with terror.

"No! Kumajiro must be so scared, alone…" he trailed off, sniffling. "I've _got_ to find him. "He's always with me!"

"Then staying here is only sensible," France chided soothingly. Just then, Arthur poked his head out through the doorway of the kitchen.

"I'm making dinner!" he beamed. Francis turned to the smaller nation quickly.

"I'll get my coat."


	13. Found

The group of nations headed for the forest.

"Kumajiro?" Francis called loudly, shining his flashlight into the trees. "Kumajiro, where are you?"

"I can't believe we have to go looking for some stupid bear," Alfred grumbled. Matthew glared at him with burning eyes.

"He's my only friend," he hissed angrily in his soft voice, surprising all of the nations. "If anything happens to him, I…" he trailed off, a tear rolling down his cheek again. America faltered, staring at his brother in shock.

"Matthew…"

"This is ridiculous. We'll never get anywhere in this large group," Ludwig said sternly. "We need to split up. Canada, you go with Prussia. Italy, you're with me."

"Ve~… I don't want to go into the woods!" Italy wailed, clinging to the German. "Doitsu, I'm scared~!"

"Don't cling to me, Italia!" Ludwig barked, looking exasperated. "Japan, England, you two are a pair."

"Hai, Doitsu-san," Japan said (_rather happily_, Arthur remarked to himself, grinning.)

"France and… let's see, America," the German instructed. "China and Russia. Spain and Romano. Everyone got a partner?" The nations all murmured in agreement, and he nodded tersely. "Good. If you don't find anything, report back here in fifteen minutes." The groups separated and wandered off.

"Kumajiro!" England yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. He squinted, trying to make out the pale shape of the bear, but could see nothing. "Kumajiro, where are you?" Kiku bustled up to him anxiously, his beautiful face illuminated by the glow of Arthur's flashlight.

"Arthur-san," he whispered seriously. "Any luck?" England shook his head in defeat.

"Nothing," he replied, his breath coming out in visible white puffs. "And if it gets any colder, we're going to have to call off the search soon." The two sighed.

"I feel dreadful for Matthew-san," Kiku said softly. "It must be horrible for him. I wonder what could have happened to Kumajiro?"

"He'll just have wandered off," Arthur responded confidently. "I'm sure he's-" The Englishman was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream and he froze. "C-Canada?" They exchanged panicked glances and sprinted through the woods.

"Canada-san!" Kiku called.

"Canada!" Arthur hollered. "Where are-" They juddered to a brusque halt as they nearly collided with Matthew's kneeling figure. "Matthew, did you find-" He let out a horrified gasp. In front of the crouched nation was a splayed out, horribly mutilated corpse. Kumajiro.


	14. A Disappearing Note

"Oh my God," England breathed. The bear was disfigured beyond recognition. The soft fur had been ripped to shreds. One of the blood-soaked paws had nearly been torn off, and the bear's face was frozen in a snarl. _It must have been another animal, _Arthur guessed, staring down at the shredded fur.

"I'm so sorry, Canada-san," Kiku murmured, resting a hand on the younger nation's shoulder gently. Canada flinched at the touch, and a fresh flood of sobs wracked his thin body.

"What's the matter?" Alfred burst out of the undergrowth, frantically waving his flashlight. The rest of the nations followed, wading through the bushes. "You guys, they're over here! Mattie, did you-" He broke off. "…Oh… f-fuck…" Italy burst into tears and buried his face in Germany's chest. The German stroked the shorter man's hair soothingly, his face numb with shock.

"What should we do?" Arthur asked softly, bowing his head. Francis came to stand behind him, his eyes blue pools of sympathy.

"Bury him?" France suggested quietly. Matthew let out a piercing wail and clung to the bear, choking out agonized tears. "Mon dieu…"

"I'm sorry, Matt," Gilbert whispered, kissing Canada's head. Retching, the Prussian picked up the dead bear gently. Canada turned on him, bristling, his eyes crazed with sorrow.

_"Don't touch him!" _he shrieked, and Gilbert took a step back in alarm. The Canadian took the bear out of Prussia's arms and cradled it to his chest. "There, there, Kumajiro," Matthew crooned into the bear's tattered ears. "It's alright. You're alright." Alfred opened his mouth, but France shushed him abruptly, placing a gentle finger to the American's lips.

"Don't, mon cher," the Frenchman murmured, and Alfred nodded. "He's in shock."

"We can't coddle him forever," Germany said firmly, seeming to finally have found his voice. He hugged his weeping Italian to his chest, uncharacteristically gentle.

"Aiyaah," Yao mumbled to himself. He reached out a consoling hand to the Canadian- only for Matthew to whirl and growl menacingly at the Chinese man, his eyes wide and insane. Ivan stepped protectively in front of the shaken Chinaman and as gently as he could manage, he brought his pipe down on Matthew's head. The Canadian crumpled onto the ground, still clinging to his bear.

"Russia!" Alfred yelled angrily. "What the fuck, dude?" The violet-eyed man ignored him and slung Canada over his shoulder.

"He's a danger to himself and others," the Russian said gravely. "It had to be done." Germany nodded reluctantly in agreement.

"I'm sorry, America, but Russia is right," Ludwig muttered. He reached for the bear corpse and picked it up from the ground, holding it at arm's length. "Romano, could you take this? I'm a little…" he gestured to Feliciano, who was still clinging to his legs. The angry Italian shot him a hostile glare.

"Do it yourself, potato-bastard", was his response, and the German rolled his eyes. He had been expecting that.

"Lovi!" Spain exclaimed, shocked. "I thought I taught you better than that!"

"Why should I?" Romano snapped. "It's disgusting. _You_ carry it." With an apologetic grimace, Spain took the corpse and dangled it in front of him.

"We need to go. Whatever attacked Kumajiro could still be out here," Arthur broke in, and the nations exchanged anxious glances and departed hastily.

"Poor Matthew-san," Kiku panted, his brown eyes shimmering with sympathy as they jogged down the hill. "I feel awful for him." England nodded, his eyes downcast.

"Me too," he huffed. "The poor love must be devastated."

"I hope I never have to lose the people I love," Japan replied, so softly that Arthur wondered if he had misheard. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but… why was the Japanese man staring at him? Alfred's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Iggy, dude," the American said, wincing. "When Mattie wakes up, I dunno how he's gonna react."

"We'll just… Oh God, I don't know," England muttered, burying his face in his gloved hands. "Kiku, what do you reckon we should do?"

"We need to be upfront with him, England-san," Japan said gently.

"No way!" Prussia broke in hotly. "Mattie won't be able to handle it. You saw him back there; he was going insane!"

"But dude, Japan's right, we can't just string him along," Alfred said thoughtfully, scrunching his face up in deep contemplation. "He'll find out, and he'll be really pissed."

"I suppose the best thing we can do is gauge his reaction when he wakes up," Arthur decided firmly. "If he seems stable, we can be direct with him. If not, we can wait until he is."

"But for how long?" Ludwig interjected gruffly, carrying a sniffling Feli on his muscled back.

"We'll have to see, da?" Ivan said, eyes fixed straight ahead as he lugged the Canadian along. "We can deal with this when he wakes up." Spain dragged the bear corpse behind him, retching.

"Where shall I put it?" he asked, and Gilbert pointed at a mound of fresh snow piled near the van.

"How about there?" the albino suggested helpfully, and Antonio nodded, lugging the body over. America reached for his keys and slotted them into the lock. The somber group trailed into the cabin silently, for once lost for words.

"So… what now?" Arthur asked, his voice empty.

"I want to go home!" Italy sobbed, his peaky face stained with tears. Germany cradled him in his arms.

"Mattie and I've stayed here for years, and these woods have always been safe," America said softly.

"Not anymore, aru," China retorted.

"The claw marks on the body indicate that it was likely another animal that attacked Kumajiro," England interjected, and Yao gave him an odd look.

"Which means?"

"Which means it was probably just bad luck," Spain finished, his eyes sad.

"I… I'm going to go to bed," Germany muttered. "We can decide what to do tomorrow. Come on, Italy." He scooped the Italian up in his arms and proceeded upstairs. Gilbert picked Canada up and trailed behind them. Arthur and Kiku followed the nations up the stairs and headed into their room.

"I can't believe it," England exhaled, shutting the flimsy wooden door.

"Me neither, Arthur-san," Kiku sighed, climbing into his bed. "I never would have expected…"

"I know," the blonde replied, staring out the window into the darkness of the forest. He gave an involuntary shiver. Everything about this place just felt so… wrong. "I suppose we should get some sleep… though God knows how I can. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see that-" he grimaced and broke off, and the Japanese man nodded understandingly.

"Same here," he said. "Poor Kumajiro." England shut the lights off and clambered into bed. In his exhaustion, the Englishman hadn't even noticed that the note resting on his desk from earlier… was gone.


	15. The Second Note

England woke to the smell of sizzling bacon and freshly made pancakes. He reached for his phone. _Nine-thirty, _he thought, and groaned. As expected, his night had been plagued by restless dreams of futile searching in dark woods and images of mutilated corpses. The blonde swung his legs out of bed, noticing Kiku's neatly folded blankets. The Japanese man had evidently gone downstairs already. He swung the door open and padded down the stairs to the kitchen, where the nations were already seated around a long table.

"So!" Francis said brightly, smirking sarcastically. "Sleeping Beauty is finally up!" He sighed and stood up, stretching. _"I'm_ going to go to the bathroom."

"Fuck off, frog-face," England scowled, pulling a chair out from next to Kiku. "You don't need to tell everyone." He noticed an empty place at the table and hesitated. "How's…"

"He's come to terms with Kumajiro's death," Germany said bluntly, smashing his hashed potatoes vigorously with his fork. "He's refusing to come downstairs, which is understandable, considering the circumstances."

"Ve… he's just a little sad," Italy added plaintively. England nodded thoughtfully, his mouth full of pancake. Alfred stood up, his chair scraping against the hard wood of the floor.

"I'm going to go take him some pancakes," he announced, leaving the room with a platter in his hands.

"We all agreed that we're going to go skiing later," Spain said suddenly, spearing a rasher of bacon. "Are you coming?"

"Sure, I guess," Arthur muttered unenthusiastically. He really wasn't looking forward to another day of falling on his ass. The nations finished breakfast in silence and began clearing up, chattering amongst themselves.

"I think I'm going to go upstairs and change," England murmured, wiping his hands on a dishtowel - not that anyone was actually listening. He clomped up the creaky stairs. With a sigh, he ran his hands through his blonde hair and placed his goggles down on the desk- then frowned. What's this? On the desk was a neatly folded sheet of paper_._

He picked it up gingerly and his heart nearly stopped. On the paper was a short message, printed clearly in familiar writing.

_Someone is not who they say they are. –the Rose_

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Francis was _really_ taking this too far. Gritting his teeth, he crumpled the note and tossed it on his bed. Without hesitating, he stomped down the stairs.

"Francis!" he yelled, and Spain looked up from his book. "Where's Francis?"

"Francis?" the Spaniard asked. "I think he's upstairs." Rolling his eyes, Arthur stalked back to the stairs.

_"Francis!"_

"Oui?" Francis blinked, poking his head out through the banister.

"Stop leaving notes in my room!"

"What?" Francis stared at him, genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?" For a moment, Arthur was caught off guard. He honestly hadn't anticipated the Frenchman denying his accusations.

"Well if you didn't, who did?" Arthur finally challenged. Francis shrugged.

"You've been getting notes?" the Frenchman questioned, fingering the stubble on his chin. "From who?" England glared at him.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he snapped, crossing his arms. "And I don't believe you." Francis rolled his eyes.

"I'm telling you the truth, mon ami," the blonde replied patiently.

"I'll _show _you.' Arthur padded upstairs and beckoned Francis into his room. "See? I left it right-" he stopped.

"What is it?" Francis peered over the Englishman's shoulder. "Mon cher, there's nothing there." Arthur stared dumbly at the bed.

"W-what…" he stuttered. "It was just... It was here just a second ago…" He stared imploringly up at Francis. "Where did it go?" The Frenchman gave him a perplexed look.

"Are you alright?" France asked, the confusion in his eyes replaced by concern. "Anglettere, you're very red." Arthur's face snapped.

"There was another one," he said, widening his eyes. "I got one yesterday. I left it he-" England gawked at the empty desk. "You're kidding me."

"Arthur, I have no idea what's wrong with you, but you're-"

"England-san?" The two whirled to see a curious Kiku stood in the doorway. "France-san? What's the matter?"

"Kiku!" Arthur exclaimed. "I got a note yesterday, remember?"

"Oh yes, the strange one from France-san?" The Japanese man replied. "What about it?"

"So there really _was_ a note?" the blonde queried incredulously, and the two nodded simultaneously. "What did it say?"

"I can't remember," England glanced at Japan hesitantly. "'I'm watching you?' Something like that. And they referred to them self as 'the Rose'."

"Yes," Kiku agreed, and Francis raised his eyebrows.

"Creepy," he remarked. "And what did the newest one say, mon cher?"

"Someone is not who they say they are,'" Arthur remembered, frowning as the Frenchman let out a bark of laughter. "What? What's so funny?"

"Anglettere, someone is clearly writing you love letters," Francis spluttered. "You should be flattered." England glowered at him.

"You _frog," _he snapped. "It _was _you, wasn't it? _You _wrote those creepy notes and got rid of them somehow. And I'm telling you, you better stop it right _now." _

"Mon cher, why on earth would I write those?" France smirked. "Oui, you may be attractive, but I don't even _like _you." He laughed mockingly as Arthur's green eyes flew open in outrage.

"Just stay away from me, you creep," the Englishman growled. "Fancying yourself as a rose. More like a stink flower." Francis snorted and walked out the door.

"A stink flower?" Japan mused out loud mildly. "Is there such a thing?"

"Keep telling yourself that, Anglettere!" he called back, grinning. "We hate each other, remember?"

"Whatever," England muttered, but left it. He turned abruptly to Kiku, who was still biting his lip. "Let's just get changed."


	16. Skiing, Snowboarding, and Sledding?

The group met atop of the mountain. It was snowing heavily, making it difficult to see anything clearly.

"Where's… what was his name again?" Ivan asked curiously.

"Aiyaah, Russia, he stayed back in the cabin, aru," Yao replied, shaking his head sympathetically. "Poor Ca… Ma… America's brother," he finished lamely and Russia nodded.

"Fucking…" England muttered viciously, practically throwing his snowboard down into the snow. He plopped down onto the snowy ground with a soft _thud _and strapped his boots into the board, grumbling as flurries of snow rained down harder on him. He just wanted to get this over with. With a sigh, he pushed himself up- only to fall back down the ground ungracefully. Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes as he watched Alfred stand on his board expertly and fly down the hill after Gilbert, flashing one of his customary cheeky grins. Following them were Ivan and Yao, both of whom looked like they had been skiing/snowboarding for years. He looked over to see Romano sitting on the ground, grumbling, with Spain good-naturedly helping his feet into the board. It appeared he wasn't the only one having trouble, after all.

"Ve~! S-sorry, England!" Italy cried, narrowly missing the startled blonde on the ground as he flew past him. "I-I can't stop! D-Doitsuuuuuuuuuuuu~!"

_"Italia!" _Germany bellowed as he dove down the hill after the screaming Italian. Arthur attempted to stand again and fell backwards. Francis sashayed past him, choking with laughter.

"Oh, Anglettere!" he snorted, coming to a wobbly stop on his own pair of skis. "Amerique was right. You suck!" Seething, England fumbled around to form a hasty clump of snow and threw it violently at the French nation, who laughed and ducked. "Need a hand, Arthur?"

"Fuck off, wanker," Arthur spat, turning his head away and refusing to look at him. "I'd rather die, thanks." Baring his pearly teeth in a snicker, Francis turned and skied down the slope, albeit slightly nervously. The green-eyed nation huffed as the other's head disappeared from sight.

"Um, I couldn't help but notice… do you need some help, Arthur-san?" He looked up to see none other than shy Japan hovering in front of him on a pair of skis, holding out a gloved hand. His cheeks were rosy from the cold and his demure brown eyes were shining with warmth. Seeing Kiku's beautiful face was the saving grace of the blasted trip up this God forsaken mountain- not that Arthur would ever admit it, of course.

"W-why does everyone assume I need help?" the Englishman snapped, flustered, his face flaming. "It's not like I want… I don't need…"

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," Kiku said, brown eyes widening.

"But yes," England finally finished, staring downwards. "Yes please." He reluctantly accepted the other man's smaller hand and rose to a shaky standing position.

"There you go!" Japan encouraged, smiling widely. "Here, Arthur-san, hang on to my hands. I'll guide you down slowly."

"N-no!" Arthur protested, yanking his hands away and shook his head vigorously. "You'll hurt yourself! I'm far too heavy!" He eyed the petite nation in concern. It didn't look like Kiku could even hold his own frail body up on his skis.

"Relax," Kiku said gently. "I'm stronger than I look, Arthur-san. Just take my hands."

"Japan, I really don't think that's a very good ide-" Romano suddenly came careening down the slope on his snowboard, bumping Arthur before skidding down the rest of the way, screeching. The Englishman tumbled forward, his green eyes wide in alarm, right into Japan. The two plummeted down the hill, and eventually came to a halt, Arthur's board and Kiku's skis tangled in a strange mishmash.

"Mmrf," Kiku mumbled, his lips smashed against Arthur's. His eyes flew open in horror and he jumped back abruptly as he realised what he was doing, praying the English nation wouldn't notice. "I-I'm so sorry, Arthur-san! I-I wasn't taking advantage of you, and I promise it will never happen again! Please forgive-"

"Ki-ku," Arthur said, barely audible. "Y-you're…" Kiku's eyes widened. "…Heavy," England finished, and Japan realised that the blonde had sunk through the deep snow and had been pinned down by him.

"Are you alright?" he said in panic, struggling off the English nation and brushing the snow out of the blonde's locks forcefully. England's green eyes fluttered open sleepily and he let out a groan. Kiku felt himself flush again and cursed himself silently, willing himself to focus on a patch of snow instead of Arthur's face. What was he, a silly teenager with a crush?

"Don't worry about it," the blonde said, smiling sheepishly. "Thanks, Kiku. Um, I think we're a little…" he gestured at the boards still stuck on their feet and snickered.

"Oh, yes," Japan smirked. "Shall we take them off?" They pulled the debilitating boards off of their feet and sighed contentedly, flopping back into the snow with exhaustion.

"I suppose we're both not quite the _athletic _type," England said ruefully, gazing up at the sky. The snow was coming down in flurries, but he was too happy to care.

"Both?" Japan retorted, shoving the blonde. "Speak for yourself, Arthur-san!"

"Fine, fine," Arthur sniggered, pushing the brunette back half-heartedly.

"Maybe we ought to walk the rest of the way down," Kiku suggested, extending a hand to Arthur. "The others are probably worrying about us."

"Walk?" Arthur replied. "Actually, I _might _have a better idea." He pulled his snowboard out from the ground and tucked the boot straps back in and brushed the snow off.

"What are you planning to do with that, England-san?" Kiku asked, eyeing the board warily. It had caused them nothing but trouble. The Englishman's eyes gleamed uncharacteristically.

"We'll sled."


	17. A Fight

**Note: Thank you, Endless-TheLostStar and doyayan for your kind reviews! I really appreciate them both! Endless, I read my previous chapters, and I realised that you're absolutely right. Japan is a bit too sweet. I'll definitely work on improving my characterisation of him and portraying him as the more quiet, reserved nation he is! Thank you both again for your reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying my story so far, and I hope you continue to read on!**

"Stooop!" Arthur yelled, waving his arms, half-laughing, half-terrified. His sledding had turned out to be a terrible idea. The Japanese man clung to his shoulders as they skidded down the slope on the snowboard, laughing harder than anyone could ever have thought to be possible.

"We can't stop now, Arthur-san!" Japan laughed hysterically, just as Arthur screamed, "We're going too fast! Heeeeeeeelp!"

The snowboard hit a lump of snow and sent the two nations flying, tumbling down the rest of the hill.

"F-fuck." England stood up, breathless with laughter, and Japan doubled over. "What? What's so funny?" The blonde nation was covered head to toe with snow.

"You look like a _yukidaruma, _Arthur-san!" Tears rolled down the Japanese man's face.

"I do not!" England protested, laughing, as he shoved the black-haired man. "Wait. What's a yukidaruma?" Japan snorted at his atrocious pronunciation, setting the two of them off laughing uproariously again.

"I haven't laughed like that in centuries," Kiku finally said, wiping his eyes. "Thank you, Arthur-san." England grinned, wiping tears of laughter from his own eyes. With a startled jolt, he realised they were already frozen from the cold.

"They're probably looking for us," the blonde replied. He smiled, extended a hand to Japan, who took it and pulled himself up. "We should go." Arthur squinted into the distance. Spain and Romano were a little further down "You guys! Hey! What's going on?" he broke off. The two stared at the cluster. In the center, Romano was screaming obscenities at…

"…Spain?" England breathed.

"The answer is _no, _you fucking bastard!"

"Spain-san?" Japan walked up quickly to the shocked nation, stepping back in alarm as Romano turned on him angrily.

"Get the hell out of the way, bastard!" he yelled at the smaller Japanese man, who could only stare at him in bemusement, round eyed. "This is between the tomato bastard and I!"

"You guys, come on," England said pleadingly. "What happened?"

"This _stupid _bastard," Lovino hissed, his eyes darkening. "That _fucking, stupid, idiotic bastard. _Asked me to-" He broke off as Spain turned away abruptly and stalked off.

"Spain-san!" Kiku called in alarm, and giving Arthur a quick, apologetic glance, he ran off after the nation.

"Romano, whatever is going on, you-"

"Ve! Iggy, Fratello, what's wrong?" Romano whipped around to see Italy pelting down the hill, with Germany not far behind him.

"Forget it," Lovino spat, turning away, his fingers curling tightly. "None of you would understand." He blundered towards the forest, kicking the snow covered shrubs.

"Nii-saan!" Feli cried in distress, running towards him. Germany grabbed his jacket and pulled him back firmly. "Doitsu, let go! I have to talk to Nii-saan!"

"No," the German said sternly, watching Romano's receding figure slide into the forest. "Your brother is a hothead. He needs to be alone right now. Whatever happened between him and England," he added, with a stare at the English nation. "Is none of our concern."

"What?" Arthur exclaimed. "It was between him and Spain!"

_"-Is none of our concern," _Ludwig reiterated meaningfully, and held out a hand to the now crying Feli. "Give them space," Arthur heard the German mutter, and he rolled his emerald green eyes.

"Bloody… ridiculous…" England muttered, then his eyes fell on a sparkle of silver buried in the snow. "What's this?" With a jolt, he realised it was a ring. "An… engagement ring?"


	18. Another Letter

**Thank you all so much for your reviews, follows, and favourites! I'm so glad to see some speculation happening already amongst the readers ;) **

He kept the ring hidden in his pocket as he shuffled disconsolately back towards the cabin. It seemed like something private; something that should be kept between Spain and Romano. Arthur decided it wasn't his place to tell the others.

"Arthur, dude!" Alfred greeted him as he opened the door to the cabin. The other nations were already seated around the fire and looked up in acknowledgement as the Englishman walked through the door. The American watched, biting his lip, as England pulled his snow boots off and arranged them neatly by the doorway. "Is… is Romano with you?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Romano? Why? Is he not back yet?" The nations exchanged anxious glances.

"No," Feliciano said in a small voice, bowing his head. Germany wrapped his arms around the smaller man.

"Why did he leave?" Alfred asked and Spain's face paled. "Who saw him last?"

"Germany, Italy, and I," Arthur said tentatively. "And it seemed like Spain and…" he broke off; uncertain of if he should tell the others what he had seen.

"Let's just give it some time," Ludwig said gruffly. "He can handle himself, I'm sure."

"Yeah, but look at what happened to Kumajiro-" Gilbert was shushed by Yao, who looked outraged as Italy burst into noisy tears.

"Don't say that, aru!" the Chinese man hissed at the shocked Prussian. "He'll come back, Italy. Don't worry, aru."

"He's a grown man," England said firmly. "He's going to be fine."

"That's right, Italia-kun," Japan added calmly. "Don't worry." The worried nations sat around the fireplace reticently, their eyes illuminated by the glow of the flames. Arthur watched the fire flicker and blaze, and he wondered if he should tell the other nations about the ring he had found.

"I'm going to bed," Ivan suddenly said, standing up. Almost immediately, Italy burst into wails.

"No!" he snivelled. "P-please don't go to sleep! We have to wait for fratello!" Russia stared down at the Italian with sad violet eyes.

"I don't think he's coming back tonight, Italy," the Russian said gently, his tone surprisingly genuine. "He'll be back tomorrow, da?"

"Italy, we're all exhausted," German added, his eyes softening. "And so are you. You need to go to sleep. Romano is _fine."_

"V-ve," Feli whimpered. "No, I'm s-staying… up… for fratello…" he trailed off, his eyes closing.

"Come on," Ludwig murmured, scooping the Italian up easily in his arms. He glanced up at the other nations, exhaustion evident in his eyes. "We're going to bed. I think you all should get some rest." The German padded up the stairs, murmuring words of comfort to the auburn haired man sleeping in his arms.

"We should go too," Japan said, getting up from his seat and stretching lightly.

"I suppose." Arthur jolted as Alfred to tapped him on the shoulder. "Y-you idiot! Don't do that!"

"Hahahahahaha! Heroes never get scared, Iggy! You would know that, except you're not a hero!" he gloated, puffing out his chest and grinning his idiotic grin. England rolled his eyes irritably.

"What do you want?" the blonde snapped, and America's smile faltered, replaced by an expression of confusion.

"Dude, someone left this for you in my room," the American said, holding out a thin envelope with "England" printed on the back in cursive. "I have no idea why, but being the hero I am, I obviously didn't read any of it! Hahahahahaha!" Arthur stared in suspicion at the envelope before taking it gingerly. He froze. Call him crazy, but he thought he almost caught a faint scent of… _roses... _wafting off of the white envelope. Alfred hovered, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. The idiot was obviously dying to examine the contents of his envelope.

"This is _private," _the Englishman hissed, yanking the letter away from Alfred and turning his back.

"But!" the American protested, and Arthur shot him a penetrating green glare.

"Go on," England barked, and America slunk off, disgruntled. With shaking fingers, he opened the envelope and scrutinised the first sheet. He growled irritably; America had obviously opened the envelope already. The grease marks from his stupid hamburgers were all _over _the first page. "Bloody wanker," he muttered murderously, and sat down to read the loping cursive letters.

_Dear England,_

_Words cannot describe how much I love you. _Tue es tres beau._ I love how your messy golden locks of hair frame your beautiful face. I love how your huge green eyes sparkle like the finest emeralds in a porcelain ocean and how your body is slender and easy to embrace. You are more exquisite than the sun itself, and you make the jealous moon wane in your beauty. _Mon dieu, je t'aime._ You are the most gorgeous creature to walk the earth, and I want you to be mine forever. Your beauty rivals only mine- (Flip to next page)_

England cursed. He was _livid. _Fucking France, getting him all worked up about something that would probably turn out to be a joke. The blonde man raised his eyebrows and flipped to the next page (which was unsullied by grease; obviously America had been unable to read anymore drivel)- then froze.

_There, that got rid of the idiot American, didn't it? I knew it. Hello. It's me again. I bet you thought I was Francey-pants. France isn't the only one around here who can speak French, you know. How are you doing? That's a funny question for me to ask, really, since I'm watching your every move- but you know that already, don't you? After all, you read my first little note. _

The Englishman froze, his eyes darting around the now-empty living room in a blind panic. Quietly, he inched towards the stairs, expecting someone to leap out of the shadows and attack him. His unwilling gaze was pulled back towards the letter.

_You're heading for the stairs now, I assume? How do I know this, you inquire? Oh, Arthur, I know you far too well. And maybe because my calculations are always precise- but you probably know that by now._

"Oh my God," Arthur whispered, his breaths shallow and rapid. "I've got to tell the others." As he ran for the stairs, his eyes darted back subconsciously to the letter again- and he halted.

_STOP. I know what you're about to do. You're going to tell the others, and I _highly _advise you not to do so. If you make a foolish choice, subsequent consequences will follow, which I don't think you'll like very much. Would you care to test me? If so, proceed to the rooms of the other nations. (Flip to next page)_

England scoffed, his green eyes glaring daggers at the crumpled paper in his hands. Like anything this creep had to say could stop him from telling the others- yet he read on reluctantly.

_I'll gladly pull the trigger I have aimed on Japan… if that's what you want, England._

He froze. Alright, so maybe they _could _stop him from telling.


	19. Don't Tell

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Arthur muttered, pacing around the room. He was too agitated to sit. He had to do something. But what? If he did, they would kill Japan- and he didn't want to see _anyone _dead, let alone Kiku. Would they _really _do it?! He froze, a new, dreadful thought petrifying his body. Had Alfred… _read_ the rest of the letter? There were no fingerprints on them, so surely… "Shit," the blonde cursed, pounding up the stairs. He kicked the American's door open with unnecessary force, seeing as Alfred occupied the room alone (a dare from Gilbert to prove how heroic he was).

"England?" America mumbled from under his blanket. He sat up straight, rubbing his eyes as he glimpsed the expression on the terrified blonde's face. "Dude. What's wrong?"

"I… " England felt his heartstrings tug at the familiar sight of the American's sleepy face. Should he tell America?

"Iggy, whatever it is, you can tell me," Alfred said seriously, his eyes concerned. Arthur closed his eyes. He couldn't do that to him. He would do whatever it took to keep him out of harm's way.

"Did you… did you read my letter?" he finally asked, and the American rolled his teal blue eyes.

"Is _that _why you woke me up?" Alfred exclaimed, huffing angrily. "Damnit, Iggy! I was having this really awesome dream where Tony and I were eating all these hamburgers, and-"

"Never mind that," Arthur interrupted, brandishing the sheaf of papers at the other blonde. "Did. You. Read. The. Fucking. Letters? _Answer me." _

"No, dude!" the American protested. "I couldn't get past the first page! What you and France have is… well, weird. I thought you hated him!"

_"I don't have a thing for France!" _Arthur nearly shrieked.

"Oh really? Je t'aime, England," America smirked mockingly. "'Your hair is so golden, your face is so beautiful, and your eyes are like emeralds'… gross, dude! I would have said 'I love you more than hamburgers,' but that's just me-"

"Shut up," England snapped, flinching as he heard the familiar words from the letter. "Promise me." He hesitated, nibbling his bottom lip. "Swear on Unicorn."

Alfred's eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. It was a stupid little ritual they used to do when they were children, back when America still believed in Arthur's friends. Well, it actually was more of a ploy to get the younger American to tell the truth. It worked every time.

"Dude, I swear on Unicorn," Alfred said quietly, his voice level and sincere. "It didn't feel cool to be reading your letter, anyway, so I stopped. I-is it that important to you?"

"Yes," England replied, his voice equally soft. He bowed his head, his blonde hair framing the sides of his face. "It is."

"Well…" America murmured. "Goodnight, Iggy. I… " He hesitated, biting his lip awkwardly. "Sweet… dreams?" A small, wry smile passed over England's face as he closed the door.

"You too, America." The door creaked shut and he exhaled, leaning against the wall. With a sigh, he padded down the hallway to his room. Japan was probably asleep by now. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. What were the odds that this stalker could really kill Kiku? He made up his mind resolutely; he would tell the others tomorrow morning. If not, who knew what kind of danger he could be putting the others in-

Arthur collided with something, or rather, _someone. _With a startled intake of breath, he realised the disheveled creature was Canada. A jolt of coursed through his body as the words flashed through his mind. _France isn't the only one around here who can speak French, you know. _England stared at the Canadian, suspicion flowing. Could… could it be?

"H-hi, England," the timid nation greeted softly and bloody _hell_, he looked terrible. His hair was a mess, his eyes were red rimmed, and he looked as if he had been crying throughout the whole day.

"Canada," Arthur replied, his eyes narrowing. "How are you feeling?"

"Not so good," Matthew sniffled, a few tears running down his cheeks. He reached for a crumpled tissue. "I-I'm sorry… I was just going to get some water." He held out his glass and England nodded.

"I'll just… get out of your way, then," the blonde said. "I hope you… feel better soon."

"T-thank you, Arthur," Canada whispered, his watery blue eyes fixed straight ahead. England padded past him, his mind racing. Canada was acting odd... but then again, his closest friend _had _been brutally murdered. He frowned, exhaling in frustration. Damnit, he had to think! He opened his door as quietly as he could.

"Japan!" Arthur said in surprise as he slid into his room. "You're awake!" Kiku sat on the floor, playing with a kitten that he had magically produced from God-knows-where.

"Oh, England-san," the Japanese man greeted, as though it was completely normal to be sitting on the floor at one in the morning, stroking a cat. "How are you?"

"You didn't have to wait for me," the blonde replied, feeling guilty.

"It would have been discourteous not to do so," Kiku said firmly, placing the purring cat down on his bed. His eyes flickered with mild interest to the envelope Arthur gripped but he looked away quickly, remembering his manners. It was impolite to stare and if England wanted to divulge, he would. The blonde dragged his feet as he walked, groaning with exhaustion. He plopped facedown on the bed, his hand still clutching the envelope tightly.

"Oh, Arthur-san," Japan remembered suddenly. "I brought your snow boots up and cleaned them off." England lifted his head in bewilderment.

"What? You shouldn't have, Kiku!" he said in amazement.

"I wanted to," the Japanese man replied simply. "And they were tracking snow in," he added with slight reproach. "Boots belong outside of the house, you know."

"Sor_ree_." Arthur swung his legs out of bed and padded over to where Kiku had put the cleaned boots. "Thanks, though." He grabbed the boots, dangling them upside down, and headed back to his bed- only for a small slip of paper to flutter out and land facedown on the floor.

"You dropped something, England-san," Japan pointed out calmly and clambered into bed, cuddling the kitten with unusual affection.

"Oh, right," Arthur responded warily, picking up the sheet. "Thanks." He turned it right side up and froze. It was a hazy Polaroid picture of the room, taken from a higher angle. Japan was sitting on his bed, his head down, stroking the cat. _I'm ready when you are, England, _was written in the now familiar black print. "J-Japan?" he said, his tone more panicked than he preferred. "Were you in this room the whole time?"

"Hm?" Kiku looked up from the cat. "Hai."

"Did you notice anything… unusual?" Arthur asked, trying desperately to keep the panic out of his voice. He stared at the perceptive Kiku anxiously and knew, just by looking at him, that he definitely suspected something. Hopefully, he would be too polite not to ask further...

"Nothing in particular," Japan said thoughtfully, and he turned his impassive brown eyes on Arthur. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all!" England laughed easily. "Forget it." He shut the lights off and climbed into bed, his shaking fingers still curled around the Polaroid. He jammed the picture and the engagement ring from earlier into the white envelope as surreptitiously as he could manage, then dropped it under his bed. He would deal with it later.


	20. Snow

For once, England woke naturally to the light of the rising sun. He glanced over at Japan, who was still curled up with his new cat friend. Stifling a huge yawn, he tiptoed out of bed and crept out of the room. Maybe he could do everyone a favour and start breakfast. The blonde descended down the sagging wooden stairs, wincing as a step creaked loudly. He definitely didn't want to wake anyone up. He cast a cautionary glance around the dark room, remembering what had happened yesterday. Could they be watching him at this very moment? Arthur walked over to one of the living room windows tentatively and drew the curtains open. To his surprise, the window was completely blocked up with white. His eyes widened and he clattered back upstairs and into his room. Kiku mumbled sleepily as England stumbled in. He stared out the window in bewilderment. Overnight, the snow had piled up all the way up to the side of the cabin. The driveway was no longer visible, and their van was completely buried in snow.

"Holy shit," England whispered, his warm breath clouding the window. The snow must have been… what, three or four meters high?

"Mmrf," Japan muttered, and then blinked, sitting up. "England-san?" He shaded his eyes from the sunlight streaming through the window. "What time is it?"

"Six thirty," England replied. "Sorry I woke you, Kiku, but you've _got_ to see the snow outside!"

"The snow?" Kiku asked in bewilderment, climbing out of his bed. The curled up cat mew in protest, snuffling deeper under the blanket. "What about the- oh my."

"We're completely blocked in," Arthur remarked. "I can't even see where the front door is."

"Well, we might as well do something productive," Japan replied, and fixed the blonde man with a long look. "Now that I'm awake."

"Ha ha… sorry," England grinned sheepishly. "So… how about breakfast?" Kiku stared at him, alarmed.

"I… did you… I…" he stuttered, looking torn between being polite and screaming for his life. Arthur huffed irritably.

"I didn't _make _breakfast," he clarified, rolling his eyes. "I was asking if you wanted to make breakfast with me."

"Oh, right, I... yes, of course," Kiku flushed, embarrassed. They tiptoed down the stairs in silence and headed to the kitchen. Arthur cracked some eggs into a frying pan and scrambled them with a fork, grumbling under his breath.

"I'm a…" mumble mumble… "bloody _good_ cook…"

"Arthur-san, you're burning your eggs."


	21. Not Back Yet

One by one, the nations filed down the stairs, rubbing their eyes.

"Fratello… Nii-chan…_b-brother_… are you back?" Italy peered anxiously through the rails of the banister down at the living room. His hopeful face crumpled as he realised that Lovino was nowhere in sight. Spain clambered down after him eagerly, only for his face to fall in disappointment.

"Italy…" Ludwig murmured sympathetically, his eyes softening at the sight of the poor Italian. "Come here… he's going to be fine." He whispered words of comfort into Feliciano's ear. "He'll come back later, I promise. Why don't we have breakfast?" Italy drew away, sniffing.

"P-promise?" he asked plaintively, his peaky face stained with tears. Ludwig nodded, his face determined. Antonio bowed his head.

"I promise." Feliciano smiled and embraced the older German. "Italy… I can't breathe…"

"What's that smell?" Alfred suddenly clattered down the stairs and sniffed the air suspiciously.

"It smells faintly like… Arthur's eggs," Francis groaned, slapping his head dramatically with his hand. "Mon dieu, what did we do to deserve this fate?"

"Oh, fuck off," England huffed, poking his head through the kitchen doorway and glaring at the huddled group of nations. "Kiku made breakfast, because apparently mine is 'inedible'."

"I… well… that's not _quite_ what I said," Kiku stuttered, looking flustered, and then sighed, bowing shallowly to the others. "Please come in. I hope breakfast is to your liking."

"Woah." On the dining table were plates of Japanese food- _dashimaki -tamago_, _owans_ full of miso soup, _ochawans_ of sticky white rice, grilled _aji_ on rectangular plates, and freshly ground green tea in mugs.

"And my eggs," England put in pointedly. "They may be a _tad_ overcooked, but they're probably still good," he added, with a nod to a plate of ashes sitting depressingly in the far corner of the kitchen counter.

"I'll pass," Francis said cheerfully, swinging past him. "I'd like to live to see tomorrow, thank you."

"Yeah, me too, Iggs!" Alfred grinned, yanking a chair out and plopping his heavy butt down. "After all, everything you touch kind of turns… to crap. Um, no offense, dude," he added hastily, shrinking at the murderous smile creeping across England's face.

"I'll curse you," England mumbled threateningly under his breath.

_"Ittadakimasu,"_ Japan said solemnly, cracking his _waribashi _and dishing a modest few squares of neatly made _tamagoyaki_ onto his plate.

"It's sweltering in here," Gilbert whined, fanning his sweaty face.

"Yeah, well it's freezing outdoors," England muttered sardonically.

"Dude, I can't eat with these things!" America complained, waving his chopsticks around. "Why do people in Korea eat with these weird wooden sticks?"

"Aiyaah… You mean Japan, Alfred," China said, clutching his head in his hands. "Japan. Not Korea."

"Oh, sorry," Alfred said unintelligibly, his mouth full of rice, completely oblivious. "Asians all kind of look the same to me."

A simultaneous, exasperated mutter of _"Americans" _was heard around the world.

"These chopsticks are really unawesome, Kiku," Gilbert said critically, examining one. "And I think the awesome me _might_ have broken one. Can I just have a fork instead?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Japan said anxiously. Looking troubled, he got up to get the fork- only to be stopped midway by a large hand.

"Shut up and eat or I'll stick them up your nostrils, da?" Russia said cheerfully, his soft violet eyes glowing dangerously at both Alfred and Gilbert.

They all ate obediently after that.

"Man, I'm stuffed!" America complained, leaning back in his chair. "Good food, dude." Japan nodded back in polite acknowledgement. "So… you guys, did you look outside this morning?"

"There _is _no 'outside'," Gilbert retorted. "If you haven't noticed, the windows have magically turned white overnight."

"Hey fuck off, dude! You knew what I meant!"

"Aiyaah, there's no way we can go out in this snow," China sighed. "America aru, do we have enough food to last?"

"You haven't already built a town in this cabin as well?" England said mockingly, his eyes widened in feigned shock. "Surprise, surprise."

"Oh, fuck off, aru."

"I take it Lovino isn't back yet?" Arthur said suddenly in quiet tones, biting his lip. Italy's eyes watered, and Spain sniffed.

"No," Ludwig answered bluntly, spearing his fish with a chopstick (while Japan regarded him with disappointment). "There's no way he could have come back through the snow, anyway."

"Dude… he's been gone for almost twenty four hours now," Alfred replied, hitching his glasses up his nose. "It must be really cold out there. We should go look for him." He glanced anxiously at the forlorn Canada, who was sitting hunched over next to him.

"Aiyaah, those woods aren't safe," China agreed, his sympathetic gaze falling on Matthew, who was being comforted soothingly by his American brother. "What if-"

"He's _fine!" _Germany snapped, standing up abruptly with a clatter. The nations stared at him dumbly as he left the room. Italy stood up, tears streaming down his face in distress.

"D-Doitsu, wait!" he cried, running after the German. Exchanging shell-shocked glances, they fell silent.

"He really cares about Italia-kun," Japan said softly, shaking his head. "He can't bear to think that Romano may be…" he trailed off, his normally impassive eyes sad.

"Yeah," England murmured, staring hazily after the retreating figures. "He really does."


	22. A Different Card

**Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed my story! tsuxken, Anya, and Endless-maybe it's Japan, maybe it isn't- we'll see. ;) I love that you guys are trying to solve this. Thank you all for your kind words! I'm so glad you're enjoying the fanfiction! If there's anything I can do to improve, please tell me!**

**So, without further ****_adieu..._**

"Pass." The nations were seated around the fire again, lounging about in plush chairs. They had made an almost unanimous decision (to the chagrin of Italy) to stay indoors all day- not that they could actually go outside, even if they wanted to.

"But it's your turn, dude!" Alfred whined, sticking his lower lip out petulantly.

"I said 'pass!'" Arthur snapped, turning away and staring at the pasty wall in distraction. Was it just him, or did something smell?

No, he was being ridiculous. Shaking off his thoughts, he put his head back into the game.

"Did someone leave the tap on?" Spain asked suddenly, sitting up in his chair. He sighed. "This dripping is getting really annoying." Arthur looked up intently. Come to think of it, the dripping _had _been going on for quite a while now.

"We shut the taps off completely," Francis replied defensively, doling out his cards. "Go."

"Sumimasen, but what is this dripping you are referring to?" Japan asked curiously, furrowing his brow in concentration at the cards in his hand. "I don't hear anything?"

"…That," Alfred said, letting a moment of quiet pass as Kiku strained his ears, his hands paused mid shuffle.

"Oh, now I hear it," the Japanese man said, seemingly unperturbed. "Yes, it is quite a nuisance, isn't it?"

"Maybe it's the pipes, aru?" China suggested, flipping his card, and he winced. "Pass."

"It's not the pipes," Alfred said stubbornly. "Mattie and I checked them before we came, right dude?" Matthew nodded and America shuffled through his deck, frowning. "Damn. Okay, you win, Prussia." Gilbert smirked, his red eyes sparkling triumphantly.

"Yes!" he gloated, pumping his hands. "The awesome me wins all the time!" He threw his cards onto the pile in the center of the table. "England, you shuffle."

"Are you sure?" Francis asked, raising an eyebrow. He tossed his own cards back into the pile. "He's a terrible shuffler."

"Yeah, I better do it," Alfred said, holding out his hand. "Hand 'em over."

"Fuck off," Arthur snapped, yanking the deck from the other man's hand. "I can do it. Give me all your cards, you lot." The nations passed a jumble of cards to the blonde.

"If you're sure, aru…" China said doubtfully, handing him the cards. Huffing, the Englishman arranged the cards into a messy stack and straightened them hastily.

"So, what's next, guys?" America asked, smirking as he watched England fumble with deck. "Need some help, Iggy?"

"I told you, I can do this myself-" he trailed off as he spotted a flash of black on a card. Arthur shuffled back to the marked card, frowning. It was a Joker, pristine and perfect, save for a few sentences of small black print scrawled across the top.

_Looking for Romano? He's closer than you think. Hint: what's that dripping noise? _

_(Oh, and kindly remember what I said earlier about letting anyone in on our little game. We wouldn't want poor Japan's brains splattered across this lovely carpet!)_

_ Your friend,_

_The Rose_

England's heart nearly stopped. The card slipped from his grasp and fluttered to the floor as he sat in shock, staring dumbly at his knees.

"Hello? Earth to Iggy?" America waved a hand in front of the older man's face, then stooped down to pick up the card. "Oh, you dropped a card, dude-"

_"Don't touch it!" _England yelled, surprising even himself, and Alfred's eyes widened in shock. The nations froze, regarding the bristling English nation in alarm.

"E-England!"

"D-dude, what the h-hell!" the American stuttered, visibly shaken. He retracted his hand and stepped back defensively.

"What's wrong with you, Anglettere?" Francis demanded, standing protectively in front of Alfred. "There's no need to lash out at Amerique like that!"

"Just… don't… I'll get it," Arthur muttered, leaning down and picking the card up. The nations stared at him with wary bemusement. Japan's eyes were widened in concern.

"A-Arthur-san..." Kiku's voice faltered.

"Dude…" Gilbert rasped, but fell silent at the expression on the Englishman's face.

"S-sorry," England apologised gruffly, tucking the card surreptitiously back into the deck with relief. "I… don't know what came over me." Everyone goggled at him as though he were some sort of subnormal creature. "What?" he scowled. "I said I was sorry."

"Yeah, Iggy," Alfred murmured, his eyes flickering behind his glasses. "Whatever." But England was hardly listening. His glassy green eyes stared down at the deck, his hands trembling. It was a nation. It was... one of them.


	23. Locate the Source of the Dripping!

The eleven nations sat in uncomfortable silence for the next five minutes, trying hard to avert eye contact with each other. England's gaze darted around the room furiously, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. _It's one of them, _he thought. _One of them is doing all of this. Whoever wrote that note is _definitely _in this room. _

"So, um, guys," America said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You… wanna do something?"

"Yeah, like what?" Gilbert asked, looking bored. "This silence is getting so unawesome."

"Um… well… maybe we could play hockey-"

"I agree with Prussia, aru," China cut in. "Aiyaah, we _could _play cards again…" he broke off with a dubious glance at England and looked down again.

"Ve~ or we could make _p-pasta," _Feli suggested sadly, his tiny smile a fraction of his normal Italy-beams. Germany put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever Italy wants to do is fine by me," the German said quietly.

"Or seriously, maybe we could investigate that annoying dripping," Spain said, looking increasingly irritated. "Where is it coming from?" England stiffened.

"Okay, dude, if it's bothering you _that _much…" Alfred stood up and stretched with a weary sigh. "Come on, you guys."

"We need to locate the source of the sound," Japan said, peering around.

"It sounds like it's coming from over there, da?" Ivan remarked. "Or is it over there?"

"I can't pinpoint it," Antonio replied in frustration. "It's just coming from… sort of everywhere."

_Drip. Drip. Drip. _

England wrinkled his nose. Something _really _smelled bad. He glanced around, wondering why the others hadn't seemed to notice.

"Right. Italy and I will take the attic. Prussia and Canada, you take the third floor" Germany barked. "China and Russia, you take the second floor. America and Francis, you two go with them. England and Japan, you take this floor- and oh, take Spain with you. Everyone understand? Report back here in twenty minutes."

"Whatever you say, German dude," Alfred grinned, and grabbed Francis's hand. "C'mon, Francis, let's go."

"Oh, honhonhon-"

"Aiyaah… I'm _far _too old for this, aru," China muttered to himself, allowing himself to be dragged along by a happy looking Ivan.

"Ready?" Ludwig demanded, and the nations exchanged unwilling glances. "Right. Let's go."


	24. Drip Drip Drip

**Thanks again for the reviews! , you win the prize for _"most consistent reviewer who makes the best conjectures"_ ;o Congratulations! Unfortunately, I don't have any prizes for you or anything... um, but good job anyway? Anyway, your presumptions are correct! It was the cat. Damn cats. **

**Attack-on-Levi-the-bae, thanks so much for your first review! I see you've read and favourited many fanfics on this site, so your compliment means a lot to me!**

**Endless-TheLostStar, I'm so glad you're enjoying the fic! (Hopefully) it'll get more interesting soon!**

_Italy and Germany_

"Anything?"

The duo peered around the attic. Italy inspected a crack on the ceiling while Germany tapped the frame of a window.

"Ve… Nothing." Italy's eyes closed and he teetered backwards. "Doitsu… I'm tired… S-siesta?"

"No," Germany said sternly, catching the auburn haired man strongly as he wobbled precariously. "Not until we find out where this noise is coming from."

"B-but… I'm sleepy, Doitsu," Feliciano whined, rubbing his eyes. "And I want pasta… and I w-want to look for Nii-chan…" Ludwig's expression softened at the mention of Romano.

"Listen to me, Feliciano," the blonde said firmly, looking the smaller man in the eyes squarely. "He'll come back. I promise." A wan smile flickered across Italy's peaky face.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

_Prussia and Canada_

"Yo, did you find anything, Mattie?"

"W-well… n-not really…"

Gilbert sighed. This situation was so unawesome, not to mention totally boring and useless. After all, it was probably just a broken pipe or something stupid like that, nothing to stress about. He glanced worriedly at Canada, whose face had been insidiously turning an insipid shade of grey since Kumajiro's death.

"You sure you're alright?" Prussia asked in concern, bumping affectionately against the smaller nation. "You're like, trembling, dude. That's really unawesome."

"F-fine…" the smaller nation responded, his voice trailing off. "Gilbert…" The albino turned, his head cocked curiously.

"You called the awesome me?"

"Um… w-where's Kumajiro?" Prussia froze, his mouth forming silent words helplessly.

"Mattie," he said carefully, hesitating. "What… what exactly do you remember?" Canada gave him a bland look.

"Ku-ma-ji-ro," the blonde enunciated. "W-where did you put his… b-body?" Gilbert torn. He wasn't sure whether he felt relief, or worry about how this piece of information would only further deteriorate Canada's fragile mental state even more.

"We buried him in the snow outside," the albino replied reluctantly, biting his lip. For once, his red eyes were uncharacteristically serious. "Out by where the van is. He's… safe, don't worry." Matthew's head drooped.

"K-Kuma… T-thank you, Gil…" he whispered slowly as though wading through mud, a tear dripping down the side of his nose. Gilbert reached around and embraced the smaller man soothingly. Canada sniffled and pulled away gently. "W-well… Let's… k-keep looking…"

_China and Russia_

It was a dark and dismal hallway, smelling of mildew and must. Alfred had warned the two that he and Matthew had never used this particular corridor, so stumbling across rat droppings or dead cockroaches shouldn't come as too much of a surprise. China rolled his eyes. The dripping sound was obviously coming from the first floor, yet they were still forced to explore the foul smelling house. The two nations trekked along the barren hallway in silence, save for Russia's occasional disturbing giggles and creepy humming.

"Ufu!" Russia laughed for the fifth time- and for the _fifth time_, China tiredly asked him what was wrong. "Oh, nothing. I'm just glad I can spend time with my favourite little sunflower, da?" Yao stopped in his tracks, turning beetroot red. _My… little sunflower?_ It was no secret that the two nations had been friends for quite some time, but all of a sudden it seemed as though the relationship between them was on a different track.

"I-Ivan…" China averted his eyes, looking unusually shy. "I…"

"A sunflower for my sunflower!" Russia said cheerfully, pulling a small, withered sunflower from his pocket. He presented it to China with the excitement of a small child, his soft violet eyes round and eager. "I tried to keep it alive, but it wouldn't live for me, da," he added sadly, watching as Yao toyed with the dying sunflower. Ivan hesitated, biting his lip shyly. "D-do you like it?"

"Aiyaah," the Chinese man murmured, clasping the sunflower reverently. "It's beautiful, Ivan aru… just like…"

"J-just like you, da?" Russia offered hopefully, and Yao's eyes glimmered.

"Just like _you," _he said affectionately. "Thank you, aru… but Ivan, why now?"

"Why now?" the Russian reiterated thoughtfully. "Why now indeed, da?" He turned away, contemplatively staring out through one of the hallway windows. "Because Russia feels strange."

"W-what?" Yao said weakly, shaken by the sudden note of enmity in the other man's voice. "What do you mean by that, aru?"

"Who knows? Perhaps Russia predicts something will happen," the larger man replied, still gazing out the frosted window. Outside, it was still snowing relentlessly in white flurries, adding to the meters of snow already piled up. He turned to China, his eyes serious.

"I-Ivan…?"

"I don't like this, Yao," Russia murmured. "Something's not right. We should get out of here, while we still can."

"B-but…" China shook his head wildly. "Your premonition must be wrong, Ivan… after all, Kumajiro was just bad luck, aru…"

"It's not that," the Russian said, his gaze darting around warily. "Russia can sense a strange… aura… here. Don't you see?" Yao glanced around the darkened hallway, and it was certainly understandable. The creaky wooden floors were coated with almost a century of dust and the wallpaper was yellowed and peeling. A strange odor permeated the air and the only source of light was filtered in from the tiny window set in the wall.

"Aiyaah… it… it's certainly creepy, aru," China agreed hesitantly. Russia shook his massive head in frustration.

"It's not the _place," _he said gently. "It's… this hostility in the air. Someone is trying to get us. I do not know who, but someone is certainly trying."

_America and France_

"How much farther?"

America had been complaining like a broken record for the past five minutes of inspection and France was getting really sick of saying, "how should I know, this is _your _house."

"Du-uuuude," Alfred complained, tugging on the Frenchman's hand. "C'mooon… I'm tired of doing this… I _know _it's just some stupid broken pipe… it's not even coming from here, anyway…"

"Mon dieu," Francis sighed, looking exasperated. "_Je vous aime bien_, Alfred, but you are getting on my last nerve."

"Je vous… something," Alfred pronounced atrociously, making Francis wince in pain at the blatant butchering of his beautiful language. The boisterous blonde brightened. "Hey, that means like, 'I love you' in French or something, right?" France wanted to laugh. The American looked so superlatively proud of himself, grinning confidently.

"No, mon cher," the Frenchman replied patiently. "That would be 'Je t'aime.'"

"There's a difference?" Alfred said, looking confused, and Francis chuckled.

"I certainly like you, mon cher, and _tu es sympathique **(I think you're nice)**, _but we'll see about love." He twinkled as America stepped back, his cheeks burning red. "Come on. We still have to search, or the _allemand en c__olère **(angry German) **_will be supremely pissed."

_England, Japan, and Spain_

"Guess we should start looking," England grumbled, crossing his arms.

"It is our mission, after all," Japan said seriously. "Which room shall we start in?"

"Okay, really," Arthur broke in. "Does no one else notice this smell?"

"What do you mean?" Spain asked, his eyes curiously flitting around the room. "It smells a _little _I guess… Do you smell anything, Japan?"

"I... ahm, I guess I agree with whatever England-san says…"

"Oh, _now _I smell it!" Antonio brightened and England's eyes widened in relief.

"You do?"

"Yes! It's the smell of your cooking!" the Spaniard said cheerfully, his oblivious tone completely innocuous as England died inside.

"Oh…"

"…"

"…"

"Well… I…" Japan stuttered, attempting to break the ice. He glanced from nation to nation, looking troubled. "Spain-san, England-san… let's commence our search?"

"Right," England said, looking resolute. "Yes… let's do… that."

"I'll take that half of the first floor," Spain replied, jabbing his finger towards the general direction of the kitchen area.

"We'll take this half, then," England said reluctantly. "See you soon." He pattered out of the living room and into the hallway, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "What the bloody hell _is _this smell?"

"Perhaps it is the smell of old houses?" Japan suggested, shrugging. He hesitated, tapping a finger to his chin. "Though my house does not smell like this, and it _is_ a few thousand years old…"

"We'll start here." Arthur pushed one of the creaky doors open, cringing as the smell of old mothballs immediately pervaded the air. "Alfred doesn't clean, does he?"

"Hai, it appears so," Japan said, peering at the room with nothing short of fear and fascination. The small wooden room had collected decades of dust and dead bugs and was piled with stacks of wooden crates. Arthur stepped forward and squinted at one, examining the label on the crate.

"Work… stuff…" he read, and then barked out a laugh. "Work? Alfred doesn't work!"

"He did say someone else visits here with him, didn't he?" Kiku asked thoughtfully.

"Who?"

"Er… Ma… Ca… someone?'

"Oh yes, Canada." The two shut the door carefully behind them and entered the next room. England scrunched his face up, his upper lip curling. The smell was getting much stronger. He glanced over at Japan and realised he had noticed as well.

"England-san, this cannot be the odor of an old house," Kiku said faintly. "This is… too much…"

"I hate to sound morbid, Kiku," Arthur replied, casting a sidelong glance at the Japanese man. "But it smells like…"

"Wait!" Japan said suddenly, holding out a hand. England broke off, midsentence, as the Japanese man closed his eyes, straining his ears.

"What?" the blonde asked curiously. "What is it? Did you hear something?"

"Do you hear that?"

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

"It's coming from over there," Kiku said firmly and lead the way to the room at the very end of the hall. England followed, fluttering his hand as the smell grew stronger. The two stopped and stared at the plain wooden door tentatively. Japan bit his lip. Both the dripping and the …_smell… _were definitely coming from this room.

"I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling about this," Arthur said in a tiny voice. He swallowed and took a step back. "Japan… I don't… maybe we shouldn't go in there." Kiku's pale face was equally as pain as he swallowed harshly, clenching his knuckles so hard that they turned white.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

"We must," he replied reluctantly. "It is our mission." Taking a deep breath, Japan pushed the door open. They screamed.

_America and France_

"Hold on…" Francis said, pulling Alfred back by the shirt. "Did you hear that?"

"It sounded like… Arthur and Kiku!" America gasped, wrenching himself out of France's grip. "We have to go!"

"Merde!" the Frenchman growled, dashing after the American. "Wait!"


	25. Romano

**WARNING: This chapter contains the very reason why this story was rated M and is in the category of horror. Some gore, but this chapter is, overall, an important move forward in terms of plot. Still, if you would rather avoid certain graphic descriptions, scroll down to the very bottom of the page and read the last note. (Don't scroll all the way down unless you want spoilers for this chapter.)**

The room was cluttered and dark, with only a small ray of light filtering through a crack in the hastily boarded up window. Similar to all of the other rooms in the first floor, the room was packed high with stacks of molding wooden crates.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

A strangled whimper left Kiku's throat as he shook, paralyzed with terror. Arthur could only stare in fright, his bottom lip trembling. Romano's mutilated and shredded corpse was suspended from four dirty ropes on a hook from the ceiling like a gross caricature of a marionette. Blood and flesh still dripped from a large gash in his stomach and splattered onto the floor in a mess of dark crimson. The Italian's face was frozen in a permanent scowl of defiance, but his eyes were glassy and dark with fear.

"What is it? What's going on?" A voice pulled England out of his thoughts and he whirled too late, just as Japan yelled, "Spain-san, don't!"

_"Dios mio! Romano!" _Spain let out an earsplitting scream and sunk to the floor. _"Romano! Que no ese posible! ROMANO!"_

"Spain!" America and France ran down the hallway towards them. "Spain, fuck! What-" The Spaniard looked up bleakly, his face stained with tears.

"El esta muerto," Antonio rasped faintly, his head bowed.

"Uh, s-sorry, what?" America asked awkwardly.

"He's dead," England finally said, more bluntly than he meant to, and Alfred's head snapped in shock.

"Wait. You mean… fuck. _Fuck. _Holy-" he took a step towards the room.

"Don't!" England yelled, hurling himself in the way of the doorway, but it was too late. America let out a horrified yelp, taking a step back before collapsing facedown on the carpet besides Japan, who was still kneeling and retching. "America! Are you alright? _Alfred!"_

"I-Iggy!" he sobbed, finally lifting his head from the floor. "F-f-fuck… w-why? _Why?" _He crumpled into England's arms and wept.

"Come on, love, calm down. Come on, now," the Englishman said gently, stroking Alfred's sweaty hair soothingly, just as he had done before for so many years.

"Anglettere, tell me what happened," Francis ordered, and England closed his eyes.

"You… you can come through. America… look away." Silently, the Frenchman slipped through and let out a groan.

"Mon dieu…" he breathed, leaning against the wall for support. He glanced sympathetically down at Spain, who was still on the floor crying. "Italia…" Prussia, Canada, China and Russia came pounding towards them all at once, their faces plastered with identical expressions of surprise and concern.

"What happened, aru?" China said breathlessly, his eyes falling on the sobbing nations. "Japan! Japan, aru! What's the matter, _Di Di?" _

"R-Romano-san," Kiku said weakly, clinging to the Chinese man who stared at the younger man in shock. Ivan closed his eyes gravely and Prussia's red eyes filled with shocked tears. Canada burst into heartbreaking sobs and threw himself into France's arms, who embraced him gently, looking shell-shocked.

"Let me through," Russia demanded and England could only gaze into his violet eyes helplessly before letting him pass. Russia stepped into the room calmly, but his face was tight with disgust and grief. He said nothing as he took a step back, nodding only at Arthur briefly before kneeling down to comfort China and Japan.

"God help Italy," England murmured, stroking Alfred, who was still gripping him tightly and wailing. "There now, love."

"What's going on over here?" The nations turned to the sound of Germany's brusque voice. It only took one moment to register their teary faces before his stern blue eyes widened in realisation and he fell to his knees.

"Romano," Russia said solemnly, his violet eyes downcast respectfully. "He's-"

"Doitsu? Ve, Doitsu, where did you go?" Italy's plaintive cry came faintly from the living room. Germany lifted his head, his eyes hollow.

"We're… we're over here, Feliciano," he called, and Feli came bounding down the hallway, beaming.

"Did you find anything, Doitsu?" the happy Italian laughed. "Did you find pasta?" He stopped abruptly, shocked at the sight of the nations. "V-v-ve~?" Ludwig let out a choked sob, and Italy's eyes widened in dismay. "Ve~ No, Doitsu! Don't cry!" He wrapped his arms tightly around the German.

"I-Italia…" Ludwig murmured, tears streaming down his face. "I…" The nations exchanged glances.

"P-please!" Italy cried in distress. "V-ve… E-everyone, w-what… what happened? Spain-Nii-chan?" Italy's gaze fell on the sobbing Antonio and looked distraught. "W-what's wrong? Please stop crying!" Confused tears began to run down his face.

"Italy…" England finally found his voice.

"Italia-san," Japan rasped hoarsely.

"Italy, it's Romano," Russia said finally. "He's… gone." Italy looked up in puzzlement, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

"G-gone?" Feliciano asked, his innocent face flummoxed. "Ve~… where did he go?"

"Italy aru…" China broke in, shaking his head. "Aiyaah… I'm so sorry."

"S-sorry?" the Italian repeated, bewildered. "V-ve, China… w-why are you sorry? Where did Nii-chan go?" His eyes fixated on the closed door. "H-huh? Why are you all sitting here? Is Nii-chan in there?" He made his way towards the door.

_"NO!" _Immediately, Russia, France and England threw themselves in front of the door, barring the way. Italy took a step back, opening his amber eyes.

"W-why not?" he asked in a tiny voice. "I-is Nii-chan mad at me?" His eyes widened in distress when the nations wouldn't meet his gaze. "I want to see Romano Nii-chan! P-please…!"

"Italy, no," Francis said softly, tears beginning to fall out of his watery blue eyes. "You… you don't want to see this."

"I don't understand!" Feliciano wailed, now starting to bawl. "P-please let me see Nii-chan! D-doesn't he want to see me? Let me in!" He pushed past the nations with a surprising burst of force and wrenched the door open.

Feliciano froze, his arms hanging limply by his sides, his hands balled into fists. Silent tears streamed rapidly down his red cheeks.

"N-nii-chan… Nii-chan… Nii-chan… _Fratello!" _Italy finally screamed, crumpling to the floor. He let out wracking sobs as he curled into a shaking, sodden heap on the carpet. Italy looked up, his eyes wild with pain. "P-please... someone… help him! HELP HIM_!"_

"I-Italy… I-I'm so sorry," Canada sniffled, lifting his face from France's shirt.

_ "Lo riportano! Lo riportano! __**(Bring him back)," **_Italy wept in anguish. "Please! _Bring him back!"_ His cries grew weaker and he slumped over. Feliciano eventually quieted, his sobs dying down into whimpers that shook his thin body.

"Italy," England whispered, his green eyes dull with shock. "This is fucking insane. W-who the hell would do this…"

"We need to get Italy out of here first," Germany said, wiping his eyes. "We'll solve this later." Gently, he scooped the trembling Italian up in his arms, murmuring comforting words. The German stalked off without another word, Italy dangling from his arms.

"Spain," Gilbert murmured, lifting the nation to his feet. Spain didn't utter a word, his eyes devoid of emotion and his limbs dragging limply on the floor. "The awesome me will carry you."

"W-what now?" Francis said, sounding hollow. "What do we do about…" he glanced at the door, and then looked away quickly.

"What _can _we do?" England asked, wincing. He grimaced. "We'll just have to… leave him there."

"Oh God," America whispered, burrowing his head into Arthur's lap. "Artie… what are we going to do?"

"Call the police?" Francis suggested, only for Russia to shake his head.

"And what are they going to do about it?" he questioned softly. "We're nations. We're expected to fend for ourselves, after all."

"But he's technically also a registered citizen of Italy," England countered. "'Lovino Vargas, born in South Italy.' He has a name and a presence, so surely…?"

"Aiyaah… it would be nice if the police sorted everything out for us," China retorted wryly. "But you've all forgotten the snow outside."

"T-that's true," Canada whimpered, his eyes wide. "W-what d-do we do n-now?"

"There's nothing we _can _do," England murmured, with a long look at the huddled nations. Italy, Germany, Spain, Prussia, France, America, Canada, Russia, China… Japan. Could it… could it have been one of them? It had to be one of them. "Nations can only kill other nations," he contemplated out loud and China threw him a sharp, suspicious look.

"What was that, aru?" the Chinaman asked accusingly in biting tones. "Are you suggesting one of _us_ did this to Romano, aru?" When England didn't answer, he glowered ferociously. "Aiyaah, how do we know it wasn't _you, _Opium?"

"Stop it," England said quietly, clenching his fists. The others… they had no idea how much of a burden it was to keep the secret of the notes. He was doing it to protect them all, and they didn't even care? Japan looked up in worry, sensing that something was off with the Englishman.

"Yao-san, please-"

"You've been acting suspicious lately, aru," China accused. "It could very well have been-"

_"Stop it!" _Arthur finally snapped, and Yao took a step back, bristling defensively.

"Please, Arthur-san, Yao-san, if we could all just-" But before Kiku could say another word, the blonde had whirled and stalked off down the hall.

**You have no idea how hard it was to write this chapter. I'm not a very emotional person, so writing all of those ****_very _****emotional reactions to Romano's death was such a pain. Romano is also one of my favourite characters, so I was sad to see him go- but it was for the good of the plot. Also, thank you , for correcting my French last chapter. My level of French is still very elementary, so I appreciate your help.**

**TL;DR: Romano is dead, Italy cries, everyone is sad. England and China have a slight altercation.**

**PS: Dear ,**

**Sorry. **


	26. An Investigation

England lay facedown on his bed, his green eyes staring straight ahead blankly. Of course it was expected that China would be the first to make an accusation against him- he had despised him ever since the Opium War, after all. He let out a distracted sigh, swinging his legs and hopping off the bed. The blonde gave a bitter laugh. If only they knew. None of them could understand the burden of keeping the secret of the notes. England glanced up, startled, as he heard the soft creak of the door opening.

"England-san?" Kiku said quietly, his tone tentative. "I-I just came in to tell you that we are having a meeting downstairs… and I am sorry if Yao-san has offended you-"

"Forget it," Arthur groaned, flopping himself back down on the bed. He stared through the bars of the iron cast bed frame- and straightened. Where was the envelope he had dropped there the night before? "Kiku… have you seen an envelope?"

"Envelope? Where, Arthur-san?" Japan asked, wrinkling his face in polite interest.

"Behind my bed," the blonde murmured, trying to hide his growing fear. Kiku's brow cleared.

"Ah, the one you were holding yesterday? Please forgive me; I had just happened to notice when you came in the room."

"Yes, yes, but _where_ is it?" England asked desperately. "It's… kind of important."

"Where?" the Japanese man frowned. "I am sorry, but I do not know. Is this important right now, considering…?" he trailed off to let the question linger in the air. Arthur nodded, pulling himself off the bed.

"Right, of course," he said, his tone only betraying a hint of agitation- but Kiku noticed anyway.

"Is something the matter?" the perceptive dark haired man asked in concern, and the blonde shook his head rapidly.

"No, it's fine," England replied, padding down the stairs to the living room. The nations looked up from their respective seats around the fireplace. To his surprise, Spain and Italy were seated next to each other- though both of them looked awful.

"Sumimasen, we have kept you waiting," Kiku apologised, bowing shallowly.

"It's fine; sit down," Germany ordered gruffly, and the two took their seats. Japan's cat had, again, materialized out of nowhere and was bunting its head contentedly into the nation's legs. "We're conducting a…" he hesitated, with a quick glance at the puffy faced Italy, then closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "A murder investigation."

"So, it wasn't a suicide?" England asked.

"Did it _look _like a suicide to you, aru?" China snapped tetchily. "Would you normally be able to hang yourself after splitting your stomach open-"

"V-ve~ P-please… don't…" Italy whimpered, his face pale. The Chinese man stopped abruptly, his face softening in apology.

"Aiyaah, I'm sorry, Italy aru," he murmured. The brunette glanced at Japan. "I couldn't imagine what it would be like if that happened to one of my own siblings."

"Right," Ludwig said briskly. "No more descriptions of the crime scene, unless absolutely necessary. Remember that we have victims here." He patted the hair of the Italian man next to him in comfort.

"Germany," Arthur said suddenly. "A word, please?"

"Fine," the blonde replied, looking surprised. He beckoned England closer to him.

"Is it really wise to have Italy and Spain sitting here?" Arthur murmured, with a surreptitious glance at the two. "Who knows how this could affect their mental health?"

"I appreciate that, but they may know something about Romano's death," Germany whispered back, then glared as Arthur gave him a disbelieving look. "I'm not saying they did it, but they need to be here."

"I suppose." The Englishman made his way reluctantly back to his seat.

"Right… let's get started," Ludwig demanded, looking unwilling. He closed his eyes. "Gilbert and I examined… the body… further. There are scratches all over the corpse, but the fatal blow must have been the large gash across the stomach." Italy let out a little sob and Arthur glanced over in sympathetic worry.

"It was totally unawesome," Gilbert agreed quietly, balling his hands into tight fists. "He… " The Prussian trailed off.

"We're not accusing anyone of this heinous crime," Germany said shortly, crossing his muscular arms. "But-"

"Then who could it have been?" To everyone's surprise, America stood up, his eyes blazing behind his glasses. "Who the hell else is here, other than us? Who could have-"

"I don't _know!" _the German shouted in frustration, silencing the American nation. "You know what? It could have been _any _of us, but I know that no one here would kill their own friends!" Alfred glared mutinously back at Ludwig but sat back down. The German exhaled heavily. "Right. Anything anyone else wants to add, speak up."

"There was a lot of blood," England remarked. "That would usually indicate it took a longer time for him to…" he grimaced. "…Die."

"Is that right?" Ludwig murmured, producing a notebook and pen, and scribbling something down. "We'll need you to further investigate the body later, England." England nodded, with a slight grimace.

"Uh, that's creepy, dude," America put in, and Arthur threw him a glare.

"I was a _medical _student, idiot."

"Moving on. England… England, you were with him last, right?" The nations directed their gazes towards the blonde.

"I… yes," he stammered. "He stormed off when I asked him what was wrong… but that was after Spain had left."

"Spain?" Ludwig frowned, and Antonio straightened, still dabbing at his eyes with a crusty tissue. "Were you there?"

"Hai, Doitsu-san," Japan confirmed hesitantly. "I went after him… after the incident with Romano. I couldn't catch up, and I wasn't sure if he wanted to talk…" he shifted in embarrassment, shooting an apologetic glance at the Spaniard, who gave a watery, reassuring smile back.

"The incident with Romano?" Germany demanded. "What incident?"

"All I heard Romano say was…" England hesitated. "Spain, is it alright if I tell everyone what happened?" The Spanish nation shrugged, looking confused.

"I-I don't see why not…?"

"Romano seemed angry. He yelled "no" at Spain and refused to talk to me before running off," Arthur finished. "He… well, Antonio… he…"

"Hurry up," Ludwig said, exasperated.

"You dropped a ring into the snow when you ran away," Arthur said in a rush, directing his words towards the puzzled Spaniard. "I assumed it was… an engagement ring, and-"

"A ring?" Antonio asked, his eyes large. "Do you mean my _abuela's _ring? Dios mio! I thought I'd lost it forever! Do you have it with you?"

"Wait- what?" England questioned, caught off-guard. "You _weren't _proposing?"

"Proposing?" the Spaniard replied, bemused. "Why on earth would I do that? Romano is- _w-was_… Catholic. Marriage was not an option, senior."

"Because… well, you know," Arthur said uncomfortably, glancing around the room for support. He hadn't expected he would have to go this far. He sighed. "Because you were in love? We all knew."

"Si," Spain stumbled on his words, "we _were_ in… in l-love." He closed his eyes furiously, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I- I…" England murmured, his eyes widening. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have…"

"N-not your fault," Antonio whispered gruffly, turning his face away and waving a dismissive hand at the nation. "Don't worry about it."

"Do you have the ring, England?" Germany, who had been watching the whole exchange, broke in.

"Yes, it's right-" the blonde broke off, realising it had been in the stolen envelope, along with the letters. "No, sorry… it must have gotten lost."

"You don't _have _it?" France cried faux-dramatically, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, what a surprise, aru," China said sarcastically. "Of course it's gone."

"Da," Russia agreed, his usual childish tone replacing his ominous tone prior. His violet eyes glimmered. "Where did you lose it? I'll help you look for it, da?"

"Well…" the blonde hedged, now regretting ever saying anything.

"Sumimasen… I don't mean to interrupt," Japan said, looking troubled. "But you said something about losing an envelope earlier? Perhaps you put it in that?" Germany gave him a sharp look.

"An envelope?" he demanded. "Gone? What was in it?" Kiku shrunk back, throwing Arthur a desperate, apologetic look.

"I-I…w-well… ahm…"

"It's… it's not important," England lied hastily. "But… no. I must have… dropped the ring somewhere else."

"That's totally not awesome," Prussia pointed out, almost accusingly. "Why didn't you just give it to Spain?"

"I-"

"I-it's alright," Spain said, silent tears still streaming down his hot cheeks. "D-don't worry about it."

"Why were you carrying a ring with you, dude?" America asked, his tone suspicious. "You never even mentioned it before."

"I take it everywhere with me," the Spaniard replied, sniffling. "I thought I'd lost it forever." He exhaled shakily. "But… after… R-Romano…" Tears rolled down his cheeks and he buried his face in his hands. _"L-lo siento…" _

"I'm so sorry I lost it," Arthur stammered, feeling a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. "Look, I'm sure I'll find it-"

"Not to worry," Spain replied, his voice trembling. "I-it d-doesn't even matter… a-anymore… not after… Romano…" Italy hugged him, his eyes wide.

"Spain," Germany murmured, his normally stern eyes sympathetic. "We need to further our investigation. What made Romano storm off?"

"W-we had a fight," the Spaniard said bluntly, his eyes downcast. He sniffed. "W-well, he was always a… a bit… b-bad-tempered… "

_Romano and Spain tumbled down the hill, their skis long discarded. For once, the Italian was actually grinning cheerfully as the two embraced passionately. Antonio's face flushed. He loved seeing the side of Romano that no one else saw._

_ "You're so cute, Roma," the Spaniard whispered, and the Italian's face turned bright red. _

_ "S-shut up, bastard!" he squealed, pushing away from Antonio. He turned his head, locks of chocolate hair falling over his eyes. "I-I hate you, anyway… it's not like I _want _to be here… w-with you…" There was no point in Romano trying to deny it. His pleasure was _so_ obvious._

_"Romano." Spain turned to the Italian with a tentative smile. Lovino stopped, midsentence, crossing his arms grumpily. The Spaniard chuckled inwardly. _

_ "What do you want, tomato bastard?" he pouted, and Antonio laughed. _

_ "Promise… that we'll be together forever," the Spaniard said softly, and Romano jolted._

_ "S-Spain…" he breathed, his eyes wide and serious, then his mouth turned downwards in a scowl. "D-don't say things like that, you stupid tomato bastard!"_

_ "W-what?" Antonio asked, caught off-guard by the vehemence in his voice. "W-why not?" Lovino scrambled to stand up, his ski goggles falling off in his haste._

_ "Because I don't want to be tied down by someone as stupid as you for all of eternity," the Italian snapped, glaring down at the bewildered Spaniard. With a snarl, he yanked Antonio's ring off his hand. "You think I want _this?"

_"T-that's not… I'm not…" Spain stammered, biting his lip as he watched Lovino fiddle with the ring contemptuously. "L-look, I'm not asking you to… I know you're C-Catholic…"_

_ "Here," Romano spat abhorrently, tossing the ring back at Spain, who caught it dumbly. "Keep your stupid ideas to yourself, bastard."_

_ "Y-you're missing the point, Romano! I just want us to… I wasn't asking you to marry-"_

_ "The answer is _NO,_ you stupid bastard!" Spain took a step back, his eyes widening in alarm, and Lovino hung his head bitterly. If only he could explain._

_ "What's going on?" England's voice suddenly broke in and the two turned as he and Japan rushed towards them. _

_ "Ask _that _stupid bastard," the Italian spat suddenly, and with that, Spain snapped. Letting out a frustrated growl, he blundered off, dimly aware of Japan's troubled pleads. He didn't notice that the ring had slipped through his fingers and tumbled into the snow, leading to…_

Spain broke off with a shudder, hanging his head forlornly.

"S-Spain…" Prussia muttered, looking lost. England felt another wave of immense guilt wash over him. The other nations looked torn between being dumbstruck or sympathetic, their faces slack with concern.

"I-I'm sorry," the Spaniard whimpered. "I-I can't… any more… R-R… R-Romano…" He buried his face in his knees, gulping out heartbroken sobs. Italy clung to Antonio, wailing.

"Antonio…" Francis murmured gently, rubbing his friend's hair gently. "Mon dieu. I'm… I'm so sorry."

"I…" Germany trailed off awkwardly, shell-shocked. "T-thank you, Spain, for the… v-valuable information."

"Anytime," he whispered, tears soaking through his shirt.

"It wasn't a proposal," Arthur murmured to himself, his eyes blank with shock. "The reason Romano said no was completely different." He covered his face with his hands. "This… this all could have been avoided, if only he hadn't run off."

"I… I don't mean to be impolite," Japan started, shifting his feet shyly as the other nations turned to look at him. "B-but I wonder, Spain-san… why did he say no? It was a very innocent question, from what I can see…"

"I- I don't know," Antonio replied tearfully. "M-maybe he just didn't love me like I thought-"

"No!" Italy leapt up, surprising all the other nations. "S-Spain Nii-chan, don't say that! My fratello _loved _you! H-he just thought you would e-end up hurting him, just like…" Spain's head whipped up in surprise.

_"Hurt_ him?" he said in astonishment. "I would have never hurt him!"

"I-I know. F-fratello…" Feliciano broke off, closing his amber eyes. "Fratello… was in an a-abusive relationship a long time ago."

"He never told me," the Spaniard whispered dumbly, tears streaking down his face. "M-my poor R-Romano…"

"Nii-chan just thought you would… use him and leave, just like what happened with his e-ex." Tears began to stream down the Italian's cheeks and his lips puckered. "H-he still l-l-loved…" Letting out a whimper, he butted his head into Germany's muscular chest.

"I never… I never knew… _R-Romano!"_

The nations could only bow their heads in solemn silence as Italy and Spain wept, in the lonely solitude of true mourning.


	27. Stranded

Eventually, the nations decided they would adjourn the meeting at a later time and lead the distressed Spain and Italy upstairs. Germany shut their door with a soft _thud _and exhaled deeply, the groove between his eyebrows deepening.

"England, I'll need you to come with us," he said, and the Englishman nodded, following him and Prussia down the stairs.

"What… are we going to do about the body?" Arthur whispered, as they padded down the hallway. "We can't just leave it like that. It'll rot if it gets left out too-"

"He!" Prussia suddenly snapped, his red eyes blazing. "He, not it!"

"Gilbert…" Before the two could say anything, he stormed off down the hallway. Germany and England exchanged glances.

"I-I'm sorry," England said awkwardly. "I didn't realise they were close…"

"You know how Spain, Prussia, and France are sometimes called the 'Bad Friends Trio'?" England shook his head. This was news to him. "Because of Spain, Gilbert knew Romano pretty well."

"Oh." Arthur bit his lip and quietly followed Ludwig. The pungent aroma wafted through the ajar door, and the two grimaced. Germany stepped into the gloom, only to nearly trip on a huddled form.

"Brother!" the German said, startled, as he jumped back. The Prussian's hands covered his face as he let out muffled sobs and sniffles. "Brother…"

"W-West…" he wept. "R-Romano didn't deserve… h-he was a good-"

"Oh, brother," the blonde murmured, kneeling down and embracing his older sibling. Arthur sidestepped the two awkwardly and shuffled forward, coming face to face with Romano's glassy, dead eyes. He wrinkled his nose. He could already _smell_ the maggots penetrating the rotting flesh.

"Dear God," the Englishman muttered under his breath. The state of the Italian was far worse up close. His pale skin was ripped to bloody shreds… _with what? _England mused. He squinted at a gash on Romano's face, scrutinizing every detail. _It doesn't _look _like a knife wound, _he thought.

"Find anything, England?" The blonde turned in surprise to see Germany standing behind him. Prussia was nowhere to be seen. _Gone, probably, _England decided. _Poor bloke couldn't handle seeing his friend in this state._

"Erm, yes," the Englishman said tentatively. He pointed at the wound in question. "Look at that. It doesn't appear to be caused by a knife."

"You're right," Ludwig murmured, narrowing his blue eyes. "But if a person killed him, what else could they have used?"

"It really looks more like… well." Arthur hesitated for a moment. "Claw marks."

"Claw… marks?" the German queried, furrowing his brow in confusion. "How could it be? He was obviously killed by another person- no, _nation. _I fail to understand how there could be any correlation between claw marks and humans."

"It was just a speculation," England pointed out. "I concur with and appreciate the logic in your statement, but I'm quite certain that these are not typical knife wounds."

"Alright, we'll have to come back to that," the German agreed. With a frown of discontent, he took a cautious step backwards. "So. To clarify, we agree on the fact that Romano was killed by a gash to his stomach, ja?"

"Agreed." It was a fatal, gaping stomach wound, just missing his vital organs- most likely done intentionally to prolong the death.

"And your theory was that judging by the amount of blood, he died rather… slowly, ja?"

"Yes." Germany scribbled something else on his notepad.

"We've got enough," Ludwig said finally, looking up from the book. "Come on. We need to figure out how to get the hell out of here now. Go pack, but don't tell the others yet."

"But what about-" England broke off, directing his gaze meaningfully towards the corpse.

"No time," Germany murmured, his eyes sad. "We'll have to wait for the police to retrieve him." He turned quickly and stalked out of the room. England scurried after him hastily, not wanting to be left alone with Romano's rotting body. He shut the door softly, grimacing at the lingering smell of death and blood, then jogged after the German.

"I'm going to go upstairs," Arthur announced. "Maybe I'll be able to find us a way to get through the snow?" Germany nodded in approval and the Englishman pounded up the creaky steps and into his room.

"O-oh!" Japan nearly fell off of his chair in surprise as Arthur burst through the door. "A-Arthur-s-san! I-ittai nani wo… **(W-what are you…)**" His cat jumped off in a hissing streak of white fur, prowling around the blonde suspiciously before reluctantly clambering back on Kiku's lap.

"Sorry!" England apologised hastily. He bent down sheepishly at eyelevel with the cat, who arched his back and spat at the blonde. "Sorry, kitty."

"Haku," Japan said quietly, and Arthur looked up, confused.

"Um… sorry?"

"His name is Haku," Kiku informed in a louder voice, and then sat up straighter in his seat. "So… did everything go alright with Doitsu-san? He tends to be a little aggressive, so I hope this did not deter you…?"

"Oh no, we're fine," Arthur said, flopping down on his bed. He wanted to groan; he could have sworn he still smelt hints of decaying flesh in the air.

"Have you… perhaps… found an escape route?" Kiku asked delicately, and England bolted off his bed.

"I completely forgot about that!" He rushed over to the window and pressed his face against the cold glass panes… and gasped. It was all white, everywhere. Harder flurries of snow poured from the darkening skies and tumbled to the ground below. Arthur peered out desperately, but there was no indication of a van being hidden under all of the mounds of fresh snow. "Oh my God…" Ignoring Kiku's quiet questions, he rushed down the stairs- and almost collided with Germany.

"What's wrong with you?" the gruff German asked irritably, plucking the smaller blonde out of his muscular chest. "Watch where you're going." He straightened up. "Have you finished packing yet?"

"Never mind that!" England exclaimed. "Germany, we have a huge problem." The German's blue eyes narrowed in alarm.

"Tell me quickly."

"The van is completely buried… and there's no way we can drive when the snow is this deep," Arthur explained. Ludwig stared at him, bewildered.

"Buried…?" England followed as the German padded up the stairs and pushed his way into Japan's room.

"Oh, Doitsu-san. How are you-"

"Fine, fine," the German interjected bluntly, and pushed open the curtains. "Mein Gott…"

"How are we going to…" Arthur trailed off at the look of abject horror on Ludwig's face.

"I don't know," the German said softly, his eyes defeated. "But what ever happens, we're stranded."


	28. A Murderous Attempt

Chapter 28

**Note: Thank you for your reviews, and TheKittenKait (thanks especially for your kind words, by the way, KittenKait, and welcome to the story)! I always get so excited when I see that the review count has gone up. I love to hear what you're thinking, whether it be good or bad. Flames are good, too- believe it or not, they actually make life a little more interesting. Well, that's enough from me… on to the story.**

Canada sat on his bed peacefully, swinging his legs back and forth. Despite all of the chaos, he was feeling calmer than before.

"F-for once, m-maybe it's nice to be invisible," Matthew said quietly, biting his lip. So, maybe he didn't really believe that… but it was pleasanter than thinking about what was probably the truth- that the only reason why he wasn't involved in what was going on was because he had already been forgotten. He let out a trembling sigh, his eyes watering gloomily behind his round glasses. Did… did they hate him? All Canada wanted was friends, but none of them even acknowledged his pathetic existence. The Canadian felt a tear roll down his cheek and he sniffed, as softly as possible, though he was the only one in the room. He still didn't want to disturb anyone, after all. Shaking with quiet whimpers, he stepped towards the window and pulled it open, enjoying the icy breeze on his face (he's Canadian, remember?). Matthew let out a sigh. His arms were so empty without the companionship of his bear- although Kumajiro was never a great friend to him from the start.

"I-I just…" he closed his eyes and trailed off, feeling more silent tears stream down his face. "I-I just w-wish…" Suddenly, Matthew stiffened as he heard the door creak open. "W-who… who's there?' A masked figure sidled in, holding out a kitchen knife. Canada took a step backwards, his eyes frozen with fear.

"W-who _are_ you… P-please… s-stop!" he begged, tears streaming down his cheeks rapidly. The figure continued to advance on him and he took another step back. "N-no…!"

Trembling, the Canadian wrapped his arms around himself. Was this it for him? Was he going to die? The figure glided towards him reticently, pointing the kitchen knife straight at his heart without wavering. In a flash, the person leapt towards him, knife at the ready, and Canada stumbled backwards…

…And out the open window. His startled scream was cut off as he landed with a sickening _thump _on the ground, his motionless body sinking into the snow_. _The figure stared out the window in complete silence. Canada's limbs were bent in awkward angles and the snow around him was insidiously turning a strong shade of crimson. With one last impassive look, the person slipped out of the room as swiftly as they had entered.

"Did you… did you hear that?" America sat up abruptly in his single bed. Francis scrambled up next to him, his elegant features creased into a frown.

"You're hearing things, mon cher," the Frenchman chided soothingly, patting Alfred's wild cowlick. The American wriggled out of his grasp impatiently. France sighed. "Gilbert, mon ami, did _you_ hear anything?"

"No," the Prussian murmured, uncharacteristically silent, his eyes still dazed. He obviously hadn't recovered from his earlier outburst.

"I'm not hearing things, you guys," America broke in, straining his ears. "I swear, it sounded like a…" He padded over to the window and squinted out. "Like a dying animal, or something."

"Cryptic." Francis raised his eyebrows.

"No, I'm being seriously, dude," Alfred whined, and the Frenchman rolled his eyes fondly. Thank God a certain fastidious _someone _wasn't here to nitpick about the American's atrocious grammar.

"Fine, fine," Francis sighed over dramatically. He pushed the younger nation out of the way gently. "Let me see, mon cher." Gilbert joined them at the window, his otherwise sad red eyes betraying a mild hint of curiosity.

"Bossy," Alfred huffed, but obediently took a step back. "Well? Whaddya see?"

"France Nii-saan sees nothing," the Frenchman grumbled. He batted his eyelashes at the nonplussed American. "Perhaps it was your imagination?"

"I _heard _something for sure, dude," America replied, fixing his imploring blue eyes on the other blonde.

"Unawesome," Gilbert muttered incoherently, crossing his arms. The two glanced at the nation in relief. At least he seemed to be getting back to his normal self. Francis turned to Alfred and sighed.

"I don't _see-"_ he froze, his eyes flickering with panic. He hadn't noticed before, but half-hidden in the shelter by the wall was a crumpled figure… with a small pool of red surrounding their body.

"What? What is it?" Alfred asked, panicked. "What-" He let out a groan. "O-oh J-Jesus…"

"What is it?" Gilbert cried, leaping to his feet. "Let the awesome me through." He paused, his red eyes dancing with uncertainty. "Is that… is that…"

"Blood?" Francis finished faintly, leaning against the window as if for support. "Oui, it looks like it."

"What… what the hell is it?" Alfred whimpered. All of a sudden, his face drained of all colour. "It's not… it's not one of us, is it?"

"Mon dieu," Francis breathed, subconsciously reaching out and embracing the younger, frightened nation. "We need to go. Quickly."

Prussia, France, and America clattered down the stairs in a mad, desperate rush, eliciting curious glances from Japan, England, and Germany, who were sitting in the living room and speaking in hushed tones.

"Oh, it's you three." Germany looked up from his seat by the fire, his expression grave. "What are you-" The three nations completely ignored him and yanked the door open.

"Fuck!" Gilbert snapped. They had completely forgotten; the house was practically buried in snow. He turned to the others. "What do we do now? This is way too-"

"Yes, yes, unawesome, we know," Ludwig interrupted, standing up and stretching with a hefty sigh. "I suppose we could help." Francis let out a nervous laugh.

"We didn't actually ask for-"

_"I suppose we could help," _the German interjected with a pointed edge to his voice. "But you're going to need to tell us why."

"Okay, okay, dude," Alfred spoke in a torrent of words, his earnest blue eyes blinking rapidly behind his small glasses. "I heard this… like… weird _scream, _and so I looked out the window, and then we saw this body, and there was all this blood-"

_"Body?" _England exclaimed, leaping up from his armchair. "Bloody hell, this is serious!" He made his way to the door and began clawing at the inexorable mound of snow. The Englishman cast an irritable glance back at the others. "What the hell are you all doing? Help me, for God's sakes!"

"There's a much more efficient way of doing that," Ludwig pointed out simply, tossing a few shovels to the others. England coloured slightly.

"Oh, right," he muttered ungraciously. "I forgot about those."

"We need to hurry," America pleaded, scraping desperately at the half-frozen snow with his shovel. "They could die!"

"Who is it, America-san?" Japan asked, his brown eyes round. He shut his eyes firmly, hoping it wasn't one of the nations. But then again… who else could it possibly be?

"We don't know," Francis panted, scraping at the snow frantically. "But we think… it might be one of us."

"Well, did you check?" England demanded, crossing his arms. The three nations stopped shoveling for a moment to exchange shamefaced glances.

"Not… exactly," America hedged, shuffling his feet under England's sarcastic green gaze. "But in our defense, dude, we just wanted to help, as quick as we could!"

"As _quickly _as you could," Arthur corrected, rolling his eyes. America cocked his head.

"Uh, what?"

"Never mind," the Englishman sighed.

"Does it matter, mon cher?" Francis interrupted, bashing his shovel against the snow. "Whoever it is, they need help."

"True," England muttered grudgingly. "Fine, hand over a shovel."


	29. Canada

**Thanks for all of your reviews! I know I said this already before, but I get such a feeling of joy when I see a new review (yes, I know, it's a little sad). It's been a while, but here you go- chapter 29: ****_Canada._**

Finally, they managed to create a small tunnel leading through the snow and eventually, up to the surface. England crawled out of the hole, shuddering as he felt a freezing clump of snow slither down his shirt.

"Where are they?" he demanded, pulling himself up and brushing down the snow from his pants. America glanced back at him and beckoned hurriedly.

"Over here!" They plodded through the knee-deep snow, panting. They approached the fallen figure cautiously.

"Who do you think that-" England started, then broke off in alarm as a strangled scream pierced the air. He whipped his head to face America, who was rooted into the ground with an expression of paralyzed horror frozen onto his face.

"Canada!" The others gasped in realisation and blundered through the snow, panting with exertion. The small nation was lying in a small pool of his own blood. His blue eyes were wide and bloodshot, and his mouth hung slightly open. Japan took a step backwards, stunned, his hand to his mouth. England's eyes narrowed.

"Bro?" America whispered, teary-eyed. He knelt down in the snow

"Dude, wake up! Please, wake up! Bro! _Brother!_"

"America, it's alright," England said soothingly, bending town to check the Canadian's pulse. "Just as I thought," he murmured to himself, then stood up with a definitive air of finality. "He's not dead," he announced to the waiting nations, who let out a collective breath of relief.

"R-really?" America whispered shakily, a stray tear streaking down his cheek.

"I promise," England smiled tightly. "But he needs urgent medical care. I'll attend to him." He immediately pulled out rolls of bandages and adhesive tape and set off to work.

"You just carry that with you everywhere?" Prussia muttered, only to be silenced by a jab in the ribs by his little brother.

"He's a medical student, remember," Germany hissed. Meanwhile, Francis knelt down next to England in the snow.

"Who is he again?" he whispered at the Englishman, who turned to glare at him.

"Idiot! He's America's…" the blonde paused. Damn it, who _was _this guy? "Er, brother… " He amended hastily, catching a snippet America's anguished, reiterative moans. Francis widened his large blue eyes.

"He had a _brother _and he didn't tell me?" he murmured, folding his arms across his chest in an offended manner. "I just can't believe-"

"Now is _not _the time for you two bickering," Germany whispered harshly at the two shamefaced nations. "This is about America's pain over his-" He broke off, clicking his teeth in frustration. "His…"

"Brother…?" England interjected helpfully. He frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Probably?"

"Whoever it is, this is-"

"Enough!" America stood up, his blue eyes blazing. " England and France exchanged glances. Japan took a hesitant step forward and opened his mouth.

"America san-"

"None of you assholes even remember who he is!" the blonde yelled, causing the Japanese man to freeze.

"Neither did you, until five minutes ago," Prussia muttered. America whipped forward, and-

_Smack. _Prussia reeled backwards from the sheer force of the blow. Alfred staggered, panting, clutching his bloody fist with his other unscathed hand. From Gilbert's nose flowed thick crimson blood, and he touched his face in shock.

"You unawesome fucker!" the Prussian screamed, lunging at his American friend. "I'll kill you! I swear to God, I'll-"

"Enough!" Germany grabbed hold of the two and pried them apart furiously. "Break it up!"

"Mon dieu," Francis said faintly, falling melodramatically into a scowling England's arms. "Hold me Anglettere."

"Hold yourself," the blonde retorted, letting the Frenchman fall to the ground with a _thump _and a cry of indignation. Francis muttered a string of elaborate curses before finally pulling himself up, whimpering at the "injuries" he sustained during his fall.

"Seriously, though," the Frenchman whispered. He darted a nervous glance at the three yelling nations and Japan, who was now flitting around anxiously with quiet admonitions and reproaches. "What on earth is wrong with them?"

"Hell if I know," England replied absently, his eyes transfixed on the sight of the quarreling trio. He snapped back to attention after a moment of observing the others. "Right. Canada doesn't have any back injuries. He's been surprisingly lucky. Japan, could you take him to the cabin- and oh, Francis, you help Japan." The two nodded briskly and scooped the unconscious nation up, sweeping out of the clearing with limber brevity. England stepped forward and took a deep breath. _"America!"_ Surprisingly enough, Prussia and America stopped at the crack of blonde's harsh voice, and he winced. He hadn't meant to sound that… imperious.

"What do _you_ want?" America spat, looking supremely unfriendly, his hand still grasping a clump of Prussia's silvery hair.

"America, stop this _right _now," England snapped, his green eyes crackling with irritation. "You're being ridiculous. Prussia was right, none of us- and yes, including you, America," he added at the sight of the boy's mutinous expression, "knew who Canada was until just recently. Now just-"

"Fuck you!" America yelled, startling the Englishman into a stunned silence. "You fucking raised him! How could you forget him, huh? Is he _that _insignificant to you? All of you!" Without waiting for a response, he pushed Gilbert off of him and shuffled through the deep snow with surprising swiftness. In a second, Germany grabbed the struggling Prussian in his burly arms, restraining him from running after Alfred.

"America, get back here this _instant!" _England roared at the American's retreating figure, then felt a tremor of fear push through him. Romano had also stormed off… and things had ended badly. Panic rose up in his throat like bad-tasting bile, and he took off after the other blonde. _"America!" _He followed the American's distant figure all the way through the mounds of snow before losing sight of him in the forest. Panting, the Englishman whipped his head around wildly in desperate pursuit of the boy.

"I… can't… let anything happen…" he puffed, clutching at his rapidly beating chest. "A-America…"

Whether it was a show of clemency by the fates or a simple stroke of luck, the blonde caught a flash of the red jacket America was wearing a little way into the distance. He staggered forward, stepped behind a tree, and squinted into the clearing. America was sitting on a boulder, facing backwards, glowering at the sky. Letting out a deep breath, England took a step forward.

"America!" The American jumped, his eyes wide with panic, before realising who it was.

"Oh, it's just you," he muttered petulantly. "What the hell do _you _want, old man?"

"For God's sakes," England snapped. "You're just a child. What the hell do you think you're _doing, _running off like that? You know what happened to-" He stopped guiltily at the horrified expression on America's face. "You know."

"I don't have to listen to you," America grumbled, but his confidence was replaced by uneasiness.

"You bloody little shit," the Englishman sighed. "You have no idea what could have happened to you. Thank God I got here in time. You're a fucking idiot-"

"Oh, really?" America leapt up from his boulder, towering over the older nation. "At least I'm not a filthy _murderer." _

"What?" England replied, caught off-guard. He narrowed his eyes. "What are you insinuating?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, Iggy. Everyone knows you did it, anyway!" Alfred heard himself yell, and England felt his a shard of ice plunge into his heart.

"Y-you don't mean… not… Romano…" he stammered, his knees weak. The blonde closed his eyes, seeing sparks in the darkness. How could they accuse him? America bit his lip guiltily, seeing England's gray face. He had taken it too far.

"Well, not _everyone," _the American said shamefacedly. "Just…"

"Just who?" England demanded, and America winced.

"Yao," he admitted, and the Englishman rolled his eyes. Of course. China had hated him ever since the Opium War, after all. "But no one else thinks you did it, Iggy! Honest!" America assured hastily, feeling worse than ever.

"Shut up, idiot," the blonde murmured. He glanced at the darkening sky. "Come on. Let's get back to the cabin."


End file.
